The Brook 



the answer came. This time there was no laugh- 

 ter. They went more slowly through a deep 

 plough, both horses laboring, then out over a low 

 stone wall and on to more solid ground again. 



"The brook comes next," Striving heard a 

 rather small voice call, and smiled and rode ahead. 



"Take it down there," he commanded, pointing, 

 "I'm going here." It was near the fallen tree. 

 Then he sat down deep in the saddle and struck 

 hard with both heels. The mare did not slacken 

 her speed at all but seemed to fly off the bank. 

 She landed with her fore feet on the other side 

 and fought like a cat for a footing. She won, and 

 was out and standing trembhng on the other side. 

 Striving turned in the saddle and waved to the 

 girl to go back, but the gray was already out- 

 stretched in the air, a wild light in his eyes, his 

 head high. The next instant he had struck 

 short of the opposite bank with his forelegs 

 crumpled, and the stream had caught both and 

 rolled them under. 



Striving was off his horse in a flash. Down 

 stream a hea\^ root projected and he could see 

 that it had caught them. The girl was out of the 

 saddle, but holding tight to the pommel. Striv- 

 ing was not a good swimmer, but he went in with- 

 out hesitation and in a moment had the girl in 

 his arms. The gray was keeping his head out of 

 75 



