"We will go back by the hill road," Fletcher said, as he handed her up.
"It is rather longer, but I think it is worth it. This blaze is too much
for you."
They left the thronged highroad, and turned up a rutty track leading
directly into the hills.
Their way lay between great, glaring boulders of naked rock. Here and
there tufts of grass grew beside the stony track, but they were brown
and scorched, and served only to emphasise the barrenness of the land.
For a while they drove in silence, mounting steadily the whole time.
Suddenly Fletcher spoke. "We shall come to some shade directly. There is
a belt of pine trees round the next curve."
The words were hardly uttered when unexpectedly the mare shied, struck
the ground violently with all four feet together, and bolted.
Beryl heard an exclamation from the native groom, and half-turned to see
him clinging to the back with a face of terror. She herself was more
astonished than frightened. She gripped the rail instinctively, for the
cart was jolting horribly as the mare, stretched out like a greyhound,
fled at full gallop along the stony way.
She saw Fletcher, with his feet against the board, dragging backwards
with all his strength. He was quite white, but exceedingly collected,
and she was instantly quite certain that he knew what he was about.
There followed a few breathless moments of headlong galloping, during
which they swayed perilously from side to side, and were many times on
the verge of being overturned.
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