She limped painfully, so that Ford immediately pictured to himself puckered eyebrows and lips pressed tightly together.

"And I'll bet she's crying, too," he summed up aloud.

While he was speaking, she stumbled and fell headlong.
When he saw that she made no attempt to rise, but lay still just as she had fallen, Ford looked no longer for an easy crossing.

He glanced up and down the washout, saw no more promising point than where he was, wheeled and rode back twenty yards or so, turned and drove deep his spurs.
It was a nasty jump, and he knew it all along.

When Rambler rose gamely to it, with tensed muscles and forefeet flung forward to catch the bank beyond, he knew it better.