She rode up close to Scylla and put her hand on Texas's neck. It was wet with sweat, although he had hardly gone faster than a walk since he had left the ranch.
And, sure enough, he was trembling slightly.
"There is something the matter with him, I know," said Scylla.
"Stop a minute and take my reins; I'll get off and see what it is," said Martha. "You're right. Texas is trembling like a leaf. Perhaps we'd better wait here for John."
There was an anxious little quaver in her voice as she dismounted and, going in front of Texas, took his head between her hands. There was no longer any doubt that the horse was sick, and very sick. His eyes closed sleepily, and his head dropped low. Then he suddenly began to sway and totter on his feet.
"Oh, Martha, I'm afraid!" cried Scylla.
Martha was badly frightened, too, but she acted instead of saying anything. She rushed to Scylla's side and hastily unbuckled the straps that held the weak little body in the saddle.
"Quick, jump into my arms!" she commanded as the last buckle fell jinglingly downward and Texas gave another alarming sidewise lurch. With more strength than she supposed she had, she half lifted, half pulled Scylla out of the saddle and eased her, almost fainting, to the ground. It was none too soon, for in an instant more Texas had fallen with a groan and lay quiet on the prairie.
This lasted only for a few seconds; then with an unsteady stagger the little horse scrambled to his feet. For another instant he stood quiet; then he began to tremble again and looked around toward the girls. But the pony's eyes had changed; they were wild and blood-shot. With a mad snort he started off on a wild run into the gloom.
For a moment the girls were too surprised to speak. Scylla was sobbing on the ground, and Martha stood by her. She had the reins of Dan's bridle in her hand, and gazed dumfounded after the rapidly-disappearing Texas. Finally she turned to her companion: