Perhaps Betty was a little careless--at least too confident. Her gray got
the lead and sped away across some rough ground which bordered a ravine.
Bob shouted again for her to be careful, and Betty turned and waved her
hand reassuringly to him.

It was just then that Jim slipped on the edge of the bank. Both of his
front feet slid on an icy patch and he almost came to his knees. Betty
saved herself from going over his head by a skillful lunge backward,
pulling sharply on the reins.

But the horse did not so easily regain his foot-hold. The edge of the bank
crumbled. Betty did not utter a sound, but the girls behind her screamed
in unison.

"Stop! Wait! She'll be killed!"

Betty knew that Bob was coming at a thundering pace on his brown mount;
but the gray horse was on its haunches, sliding down the slope of the
ravine, snorting as it went. Betty could not stop her horse, but she clung
manfully to the reins and sat back in her saddle as though glued to it.

Just what would happen when they reached the bottom of the slope was a
very serious question.




CHAPTER IV

A SECOND IDA BELLETHORNE