Through ten months of the year a child of ten could wade1 the Asper but now its deep roaring that set the ground quivering under Barry gave him perfect assurance of safety. Not one of that posse would attempt the crossing, he felt, but he slipped back through the shrubbery close to the bank to make sure. He was in time to see Mark Retherton give a command with gestures that sent reluctant guns into the holsters. Fists were brandished2 toward the green covert3 on the farther side of the river, so close, such an unreachable distance. One or two rode their horses down to the very edge of the water, but they gave up the thought and the whole troop turned back toward Wilsonville; even the horses were down-headed.
Back in the covert he found Bart lying with his head on his paws, his eyes closed, his sides swelling4 and closing till every rib5 seemed broken; yet now and then he opened one red eye to look at Satan. The stallion lay in almost exactly the same position, and the rush and rattle6 of his breathing was audible even in the noise of the Asper; Barry dropped prone7 and pressed his ear against the left side of the horse, just behind the shoulder. The fierce vibration9 fairly shook his head; he could hear the rush of the blood except when that deadly rattling10 of the breath came. When he rose to his knees the face of the master was serious, thoughtful.
“Satan!” he called, but the river must have drowned his voice. Only when he passed his fingers down the wet neck, one of Satan's ears pricked11, and fell instantly back. It would not do to let him lie there in the cool mold by the water, for he knew that the greatest danger in overheating a horse is that it may cool too quickly afterward12.
He stooped directly in front of Satan and swept up an arm in command; it brought only a flicker13 of the eyelid14, the eyelid which drooped15 over a glazing16 eye.
“Up!” he commanded.
One ear again pricked; the head lifted barely clear of the ground; the forelegs stiffened17 with effort, trembled, and were still again.
“Bart!” shouted the master, “wake him up!”
The voice could not have carried to the wolf through the uproar18 of the waters, but the gesture, the expression brought home the order, and Black Bart came to his feet, staggering. Right against the nose of Satan he bared his great teeth and his snarl19 rattled20. No living creature could hear that sound without starting, and the head of Satan raised high. Still before him Bart growled21 and under his elbow and his chest the hands of the master strained up. He swayed with a snort very like a human groan22, struggled, the forelegs secured their purchase, and he came slowly to his feet. There he stood, braced23 and head low; a child might have caught him by the mane and toppled him upon his side, and already his hind8 legs were buckling24.
“Get on!” cried Barry.
There was a lift of the head, a quivering of the tensed nostrils25, but that was all. He seemed to be dying on his feet, when the master whistled. The sound cut through the rushing of the Asper as a ray of light probes a dark room, shrill26, harsh, like the hissing27 of some incredible snake, and Satan went an uncertain step forward, reeled, almost fell; but the shoulder of the master was at his side lifting up, and the arm of the master was under his chest, raising. He tried another step; he went on among the trees with his forelegs sprawling28 and his head drooped as though he were trying to crop grass. Black Bart did his part to recall that flagging spirit. Sometimes it was his snarl that startled the black; sometimes he leaped, and his teeth clashed a hair's breadth from Satan's nose.
By degrees the congealing29 blood flowed freely again through Satan's body; he no longer staggered; and now he lifted a forepaw and struck vaguely30 at Bart as the wolf-dog leaped. Barry stepped away.
“Bart!” he called, and the shouting of the Asper was now so far away that he could be heard. “Come round here, old boy, and stop botherin' him. He's goin' to pull through.”
He leaned against a willow31, his face suddenly old and white with something more than exhaustion32, and laughed in such an oddly pitched, cracked tone that the wolf-dog slunk to him on his belly33 and licked the dangling34 hand. He caught the scarred head of Bart and looked steadily35 down into the eyes of the wolf.
“It was a close call, Bart. There wasn't more than half an inch between Satan and—”
The black turned his head and whinnied feebly.
“Listen to him callin' for help like a new-foaled colt,” said the master, and we............