land from her saddle as
if she had been a child and place her before him; saw the brown horse
prop, and swing round on his haunches in a way that showed he had
not been called the crack 'cutting-out' horse on a big cattle run for
nothing. We saw Jim jump to the ground and lift the young lady down. We
saw only one horse.

Three minutes after Mr. Falkland overtook us, and we rode up together.
His face was white, and his dry lips couldn't find words at first. But
he managed to say to Jim, when we got up--

'You have saved my child's life, James Marston, and if I forget the
service may God in that hour forget me. You are a noble fellow. You must
allow me to show my gratitude in some way.'

'You needn't thank me so out and out as all that, Mr. Falkland,' said
Jim, standing up very straight and looking at the father first, and then
at Miss Falkland, who was pale and trembling, not altogether from fear,
but excitement, and trying to choke back the sobs that would come out
now and then. 'I'd risk life and limb any day before Miss Falkland's
finger should be scratched, let alone see her killed before my eyes. I
wonder if there's anything left of the mare, poor thing; not that she
don't deserve it all, and more.'

Here we all walked forward to the deep creek bank. A yard or two farther
and the brown horse and his burden must have gone over the terrible
drop, as straight as a plumb-line, on to the awful rocks below. We could
see where the brown had torn up the turf as he struck all four hoofs
deep into it at once. Indeed, he had been newly shod, a freak of Jim's
about a bet with a travelling blacksmith. Then the other tracks, the
long score on the brink--over the brink--where the frightened, maddened
animal had made an attempt to alter her speed, all in vain, and had
plunged over the bank and the hundred feet of fall.

We peered over, and saw a bright-coloured mass among the rocks
below--very still. Just at the time one of the ration-carriers came by
with a spring cart. Mr. Falkland lifted his daughter in and took the
reins, leaving his horse to be ridden home by the ration-carrier. As for
us we rode back to the shearers' hut, not quite so fast as we came, with
Jim in the middle. He did not seem inclined to talk much.

'It's lucky I turned round when I did, Dick,' he said at last, 'and saw
you making the "danger-look-out-sharp" signal. I couldn't think what the
dickens it was. I was so cocksure of catching the mare in half-a