Her father she could not see, nor the other horse, nor the wagon.

A clump of young trees hid the lower declivity.

Lorraine did not stop to think of what she would find down there.

Sliding, running, she followed the traces of the wreck to where the horse was standing.

It was Caroline, looking very dejected but apparently unhurt, save for skinned patches here and there where she had rolled over rocks.
A little farther, just beyond the point of the grove which they seemed to have missed altogether, lay the other horse and what was left of the wagon.