Judith and the grey mare, following close on Bill Kirby's heels, got
over neatly, and were away after him over the top of the hill before
Christian's turn came. The ancient and skilled Harry addressed himself
to the task with elderly caution, feeling his way with suspicion,
creeping across with slow-poised feet, and was so delicate over the
effort, that Larry's cob, following too close on him, was checked at a
critical moment. He struggled, slipped, recovered, found himself still
hindered by Harry, and, with a final stagger, lost footing altogether,
and rolled over.

Cottingham, subsequently recounting the incident, declared that
_he_ thought, he did, that the young genel'm was done for; but
"that little Miss Christeen--she's a nummer she is!--she off'n 'er
'oss before I fair sees what's 'appened, and she ketches the young
chap by the 'ed, and pulls 'im clear! Her did indeed! A lill' gurl
like what she is too! Her's wuth more than ten big men!"

What a singular encomium, "a nummer" might mean, was a fact known only
to Cottingham, but it was incontrovertibly Christian's eel-like
swiftness of action that had saved Larry from a worse accident. Small
and slender though she was, she was wiry, and she had the gift of
being able instantly to concentrate every force of mind and body upon
a desired point--a rare gift and a precious one.

But when she and Larry, dripping and hatless, were hauled into safety
by other helpers, less swift but more powerful, it was found that
Larry had not come out of the Feorish unscathed. His left hand was
hanging, helpless, with a broken wrist.