III-XXIII

Gordon Makimmon rose to a sitting
position on the glassy fall. Above him, to
the right, the stage lay collapsed, its wheels
broken in. Below the yellowish-white horse, upon
his back, drew his legs together, kicked out convulsively,
and then rolled over, lay still. From the
round belly the broken end of a shaft squarely projected.
The other horse was lost in a thrashing
thicket below.

Gordon exclaimed, "God A'mighty!" Then the
thought flashed through his mind that, extraordinarily,
he had not been hurt -- he had fallen away from
the plunging hoofs, his heavy winter clothes had
preserved him from serious bruises. His face was
scratched, his teeth ached intolerably, but, beyond
that...

He rose shakily to his feet. As he moved a swift,
numbing pain shot from his right side, through his
shoulder to his brain, where, apparently, it centered
in a burning core of suffering. He choked unexpectedly
on a warm, thick, salty tide welling into
his throat. He said aloud, surprised, "Something's
busted."

[[361]]

p360 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p361w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p362

v?