"Stop! Wait! She'll be killed!"
Betty knew that Bob was coming at a thundering pace on his brown mount;
but the gray horse was on its haunches, sliding down the slope of the
ravine, snorting as it went. Betty could not stop her horse, but she clung
manfully to the reins and sat back in her saddle as though glued to it.
Just what would happen when they reached the bottom of the slope was a
very serious question.
CHAPTER IV
A SECOND IDA BELLETHORNE
The ravine was forty feet deep, and although the path, down which the gray
horse slid with Betty Gordon on his back, was of sand and gravel only,
there were some boulders and thick brush at the bottom that threatened
disaster to both victims of the accident.
Swiftly and more swiftly the frightened horse slid, and the girl had no
idea what she should do when they came, bumpy-ti-bump to the bottom.
She heard Bob shouting something to her, but she did not immediately
comprehend what he said. Something, she thought it was, about her
stirrups. But this was no time or place to look to see if her stirrup
leathers were the proper length or if her feet were firmly fixed in the
irons, which both Bob and Uncle Dick had warned her about when first she
had begun to ride.
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