Fairfax Cary was strong, the black horse not quite mad with terror, and the man mastered the brute.  “Whose is he?” he asked.  “If you will hold him—­he is quite quiet now—­I will go see.”

A negro came panting around the turn.  “Gawd-a-moughty, marster! did you cotch dat horse?  You, Selim, I’s gwine lam’ you, I’s gwine teach you er lesson—­dancin’ roun’ on yo’ two foots ’cause you sees er scrap of paper!  R’arin’ an’ pitchin’ an’ flingin’ white folks on er heap of stones!  I’ll larn you!  Yo’ marster was a-dreamin’, or you’d never th’owed him!  You jes wait twel I git you home!  Marse Fairfax Cary, dis debbil done th’owed my marster, an’ he lyin’ by de roadside, an’ I don’ know whether he live or daid!”

“I know you now,” exclaimed the younger Cary.  “You’re Mr. Lewis Rand’s servant.  Hadn’t you better stay here, Miss Dandridge, until I see what really is the matter?  Here, boy, stop chattering your teeth!  Your master’s not killed.  Was it at the top of the hill?”

“Halfway down, Marse Fairfax, whar de footpath goes down through de papaw bushes.  Joab’ll show you.”

“I’m coming too,” said Miss Dandridge.  “I’ll lead Selim.”

Without more ado the four rounded the bend of the road and began to climb the hill.  Halfway up, as Joab had stated, they found their man.  He lay beside the papaw bushes, among the loose stones, and he lay very still.  One arm was doubled under him.  His head was thrown back, and his brown hair was matted with blood.

“Oh!” cried Unity pitifully, and went down upon her knees beside the unfortunate.

Cary examined the cut in the head.  “Well, he’s not dead, but he’s had a pretty fall!  What’s to be done?  Joab—­”

“Joab,” commanded Miss Dandridge, “ride straight to Fontenoy and tell Colonel Dick to send Big Jim and a couple of men with the old litter!—­and then ride to Charlottesville and bring Dr. Gilmer—­”

“Are you going to take him to Fontenoy?” asked the younger Cary.

“Why not?” flashed Miss Dandridge.  “Would you leave him to bleed to death by the roadside?  ‘My enemy’s dog—­’ and so forth.  Hurry, Joab!”

The negro mounted his horse that had been grazing by the papaw bushes, and was off at a gallop, leaving Unity and Cary with the luckless rider.  Cary brought water from the brook that brawled at the foot of the steep hillside, and Unity wet the brow and lips of the unconscious man, but he had given no sign of life when the relief party arrived from Fontenoy.  This consisted of four stout negroes bearing the litter, and of Colonel Dick Churchill and Mr. Ned Hunter.

“Tut, tut!” cried Colonel Dick.  “What’s this? what’s this?  Damn this place!  My mare Nelly threw me here thirty years ago!—­I was coming home from a wedding.  Senseless and cut across the head!—­and I don’t like the way that arm’s bent.—­Ned Hunter, you take Big Jim’s corner of the litter for a minute.  Now, Big Jim, you lift Mr. Rand.—­So! we’ll have him at Fontenoy in a jiffy, and in bed in the blue room.  Run ahead, Unity, and tell Jacqueline and Mammy Chloe to make ready.  His boy’s gone for Gilmer.  Easy now, men!  Yes, ’twas at this very spot my mare Nelly threw me!—­it was Maria Erskine’s wedding.”