With her feet tied, if she fell she would just roll under the horse's belly and be kicked to death. Then he hobbled to the bank, wishing he had time to cut the two arrows out of his leg. At first he couldn't tell if it was a man or an antelope. It was too dark to tell much about any of them, but he dumped the saddle on the ground and went over to shake hands.
He could feel that he had done as well as any man could have, given the raw conditions of the frontier. But he found he couldn't stand it to wait--he had to see her again, even if she wouldn't look at him. He had an urge to just ride on out into the dark country. The blacksmith, an uncommunicative man named Roy Royce, had ridden out of town some months before and had not come back.
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