Gasping for breath, staggering, stumbling, she reeled on a
few paces and then slipped down clutching at the river's bank.
Here the water was shallow, and here she lay until her
strength returned. Then she urged herself up and onward,
climbed to the top of the bank with success at last within
reach.
To find the horses now required but a few minutes' search.
They stood huddled in a black mass close to the barbed-wire
fence at the extremity of the pasture. As she approached them
they commenced to separate slowly, edging away while they
faced her in curiosity. Softly she called: "Brazos! Come,
Brazos!" until a unit of the moving mass detached itself and
came toward her, nickering.
"Good Brazos!" she cooed. "That's a good pony," and
walked forward to meet him.
The animal let her reach up and stroke his forehead, while
he muzzled about her for the expected tidbit. Gently she
worked the hackamore over his nose and above his ears, and
when it was safely in place she breathed a deep sigh of relief
and throwing her arms about his neck pressed her cheek to
his.
"You dear old Brazos," she whispered.
The horse stood quietly while the girl wriggled herself to his
back, and then at a word and a touch from her heels moved
off at a walk in the direction of the ford.
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