Addison, too,
still clinging to his five halters, had leaped off. Before I got clear,
two horses bounded over me. The three spans on the scoot dashed down the
slope, but brought up abruptly on different sides of a tree. Some of
them were thrown down, and the others floundered over them. Two broke
away and ran with the led horses. It was a rough place, littered with
large rocks and fallen trees. In their panic the horses floundered over
those, but a little farther down came on a bare, shelving ledge that
overhung the brook. Probably they could not see where they were going,
or else those behind shoved the foremost off the brink; at any rate, six
of the horses went headlong down into the rocky bed of the torrent,
whence instantly arose heart-rending squeals of pain.
It had all happened so suddenly that we could not possibly have
prevented it. In fact, we had no more than picked ourselves up from
among the snowy logs and stones when they were down in the brook. Those
that had not gone over the ledge were galloping away down the valley.
"Goodness! What will the old Squire say to this?" were Addison's first
words.
After a search, we found a lantern under a heap of bags and harness.
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