To show the erraticalness of fate, no sooner had they reached the road, than Red’s mount cleared the parapet of the bridge in a single leap—­a beautiful leap—­and came down upon them in the road.

All got out of the way but a three-year-old, forgotten in the excitement.  Upon this small lad, fallen flat in the road, bore the powerful man and horse.  Then there were frantic cries of warning.  Fifty feet between the youngster and those mangling hoofs—­twenty—­five! the crowd gasped—­they were blotted together!  Not so.  A mighty hand had snatched the boy away in that instant of time.  He was safe and very indignant in a howling, huddled heap in the ditch by the roadside, but alas, for horse and rider!  The buckskin was not used to such feats, and when Red’s weight was thrown to the side for the reach he missed his stride, struck his feet together, and down they went, while the foot-deep dust sprang into the air like an explosion.

Miss Mattie rushed to the scene of the accident, followed by everybody.  Young Lettis, equally frightened, was close beside her.

“Oh, Will!  Are you killed?” she cried.

And then a voice devoid of any signs of weakness, but loaded to the breaking point with wrath, told in such language as had never been heard in Fairfield that the owner was still much alive.

“Run away, Mattie!  Run away and let me cuss!” shrieked Red.  Miss Mattie collapsed into the arms of Lettis.

The dust settled enough so that the anxious villagers could see horse and man; the former resting easily, as if he had had enough athletics for one day, and the latter sitting in the road.  Neither showed any intention of rising.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Saunders, are you hurt?” inquired the fussy post-mistress.

“Please go ’way, ma’am,” said Red, waving his arm.

“I’m sure you’re hurt—­I’m perfectly sure you’re hurt,” she persisted, holding her ground.  “Now, do tell us what can possibly be the matter with you?”

“Very well,” returned the exasperated cow-puncher, “I will.  My pants, ma’am, have suffered in this turn-up, and they’re now in a condition to make my appearance in polite society difficult, if not impossible; now please go ’way and somebody fetch me a horse blanket.”

It is regrettable that the discomfiture of the post-mistress was received with undisguised hilarity.  The blanket was produced, and Red stalked off in Indian dignity, marred by a limp in his left leg, for he had come upon Mother Earth with a force which made itself felt through all that foot of soft dust.

“Bring that durn-fool horse along,” he called over his shoulder.  Buckskin rose and followed his owner.  There was no light in his eye now; he looked thoughtful.  He, too, limped, and there was a trickle of blood down his nose.  Verily it had been a hard fought field.

* * * * *

As both men were anxious to see the lay of the land as soon as possible.  Red took his place in the waggon that day, after the damages were repaired, content to wait until his leg was less sore for horseback riding.