Both went under the water, but rising again in a moment Sam slid off the animal's back, to give the poor fellow a better chance of escape by swimming.

Striking out boldly Sam reached the bank and crawling up looked for his horse.

The poor beast was evidently too severely hurt to swim with ease, and so he drifted away, Sam running along the bank, calling and encouraging him.

He struck the shore at last, and Sam examining him found that while he was stunned and bruised no serious damage had been done.
"Poor fellow," he said, stroking the colt's head, "you cannot serve me any further in this swamp, but you saved my life and I'm glad you're not killed anyhow." Then taking the bridle off, he turned the horse loose, to graze and browse at will in the dense growth of the swamp.
Sam was feverish still, and very weak, but his anxiety to reach the root fortress again was an overmastering impulse.

He had lost his bearings in the mad chase, and the sky was so overcast that he could make no use of the sun as a guide.