He caught his horse’s bridle from a man who had climbed over the bank, leaving his own horse on the farther side.

“Why the devil did none of you stop the brute?” he stormed at the little group, now standing on the bank, looking down upon the prostrate mare, while he tried to steady his plunging horse in order to mount.

“It’s no good for you, sir!” called John Kearney to him; “he’s away back of the house, ye’ll never get him!”

“Don’t go, Larry,” said Christian, who was kneeling by Nancy, caressing her and murmuring endearments.  “I’m afraid she’s badly hurt.”

The mare was lying still.  Michael Donovan, who had bred her, slipped his hand under her, and drew it out, red with blood.

“Go after him, if ye like, the bloody ruffian!” he said, furiously, “but the mare will never rise from this!  Oh, my lovely little mare!”

“What do you mean?” Larry let his horse go, and flung himself on his knees beside Donovan.  Christian, colourless continued to try and soothe Nancy, who lay without moving, though her frightened eye turned from one to another, and her ears twitched.

“Staked she is!” roared Donovan; “that’s what I mean!  Look at what’s coming from her!”

He broke into a torrent of crude statements, made, if possible, more horrible by curses.

Larry struck him on the mouth with his open hand.

“Shut your mouth!  Remember the lady!”

Michael Donovan took the blow as a dog might take it, and without more resentment.

Christian quickly put her hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t mind, Michael.  Let me see what has happened to her—­”

Nancy’s eye rolled back at Christian, as she stooped over her, leaning on Donovan.  Already, a dark pool was forming beside her.

“You couldn’t see where the branch bet her, Miss,” said Donovan, quieted by Christian’s touch, “but there’s what done it!” He pointed to the sharp, jagged end of one of the branches, red with blood.

“The Vet—­” said Christian, trying to think, speaking steadily.  “Couldn’t someone fetch Mr. Cassidy?”

“No good, my dear,” said old Kearney, wagging his head; “No good at all!  There’s no medicine for her now but what’ll come out of a gun!”

Christian looked up into the faces of the little knot of men round her.

“Is that true?” she said, watching them.

And all the time a voice in her mind said to her that it was true.

“God knows I wouldn’t wish it for the best money ever I handled,” said one man, and looked aside from her eyes.

Another shook his head, and muttered something about the Will o’ God.  A third said it was the sharp end of the branch that played hammock with her; he lost a cow once himself the same way.  Old Kearney summed up for the group.

“There is no doubt in it, Miss Christian, my dear child—­”

Christian leaned hard on Larry’s shoulder as she rose to her feet.