And, sure enough, Scylla scrambled to her feet. She stood a little unsteadily on them, but she stood. They were so glad it was true that they did not try to understand it.
After Scylla's new-found strength had been rejoiced over for a moment, they began to wonder how they could get home. They knew that they could not walk—Martha was terribly tired, and Scylla, even if she could stand up, was not equal to the long tramp back to the ranch, of course. They were dripping wet. The elation that followed their escape, and the discovery of Scylla's great good fortune, was followed by a nervous breakdown on the part of both girls, and they cuddled in each other's arms on the wet grass, sobbing and frightened, to wait for morning to come.
Hardly half an hour had passed before they heard horses. Martha stood up and saw the shadowy form of a rider away off to the right. She tried to scream, but her overstrained voice was hoarse and husky. Scylla called out as well as she could, but the horseman rode on. By and by they changed their course, however, and came near enough for the girls to make their presence known.
As the horses approached, Martha recognized in the foremost one the big black form of Dan. Her brother John was on his back, and with him were men from the ranch.
There were tears in the eyes of the big men as they lifted the girls in their arms, and started home. They had not expected to find them alive.
Before they went to sleep, the thrilling story of Martha's bravery had been fully told, and to it had been added the news of Scylla's strange recovery.
The next day the doctor was called in to see about it. He gravely shook his head, and said it was strange, but that such things had happened before. The great mental excitement of the stampede had wrought what seemed a miracle.
Her recovery after that was rapid. When John and Martha went North the next winter, Scylla went with them, and was able to walk about almost as easily as Martha herself.
A few days after the stampede, the bruised body of poor Texas was found where he had been trampled to death by the herd. What was left of the loco-weed that had wrought his ruin was burned, and the Northern college professor is still without his specimens.