creek; and she rode as if she'd go off at any moment.
Dave Regan and Andy Maculloch were on their horses and across the creek in a jiffy, to cut the other horse off from the heavy scrub, and I started to run, but the woman's horse swerved and ran down into the creek.
"Joe, Joe!" Mary screamed after me. "Run! Run! She'll be down in the creek ! She'll be thrown in the creek! She's thr-o-wn!"
But she wasn't. The horse struggled up the steep bank on our side—the woman still clinging to the saddle—and made for the yard on the rise at the back of the house. Then she propped, and the woman went sprawling in the dust. We were all there in no time. It was James, with a riding skirt on; he had been riding the filly with a side-saddle. James was winded, but, by the holy frost, he was wild! He didn't wait to unlock the waistband of his riding skirt; he tore hooks and eyes out, and got out of the skirt.
"Why, whatever have you been doing, James?" said Mary, as soon as she saw he wasn't hurt. "Why, that's Maggie Charlesworth's side-saddle—and that's her skirt! Where is she? Where did you leave her?"
James said: "Damn Maggie Charlesworth!" and then he went inside the house.
Maggie told us all about it afterwards. You see, when we broke a horse in to side-saddle, we used to hang a riding skirt from our belt or from a ring in the saddle, so that the horse would get used to the flapping of the skirt. Maggie lent James a skirt, and
