'I'm sorry,' she said with a commendable attempt to compose herself. 'Steven Harding hit me, so Bertie went for him ... there's blood everywhere ... I've rigged up a tourniquet on his arm, but it's not working properly ... I don't know what else to do ... I think he's going to die if he doesn't get to a hospital.'
He sat up and rubbed his face furiously to eradicate sleep. He could hear the white noise of empty space and the sound of birdsong in the background. 'Where are you?'
'At the end of the quarry gully ... near the steps on the coastal path ... halfway between Chapman's Pool and St. Alban's Head ... Stinger's bolted, and I'm afraid he's going to break a leg if he trips on his reins ... we'll lose everything ... I think Steve's dying...' Her voice faded as she turned away from the signal. 'Manslaughter ... Bertie was out of control...'
'I'm losing you, Maggie,' he shouted.
'Sorry.' Her voice came back in a rush. 'He's not responding to anything. I'm worried Bertie's severed an artery, but I can't get the tourniquet tight enough to stop the bleeding. I'm using Bertie's lead, but it's too loose, and the sticks here are all so rotten they just keep breaking.'
'Then forget the lead and use something else-something you can get a grip on-a T-shirt maybe. Wind it around his arm as tight as you can above the elbow, then keep twisting the ends to exert some pressure. Failing that, try and locate the artery on the underside of his upper arm with your fingers and press hard against the bone to stop the flow. But you've got to keep the pressure on, Maggie, otherwise he'll start bleeding again, and that means your hands are going to hurt.'
'Okay.'
'Good girl. I'll get help to you as fast as I can.' He cut her off and dialed Broxton House. 'Mrs. Jenner?' he said, flicking over to the loudspeaker when the receiver was lifted at the other end. 'It's Nick Ingram.' He flung himself out of bed and started to drag on some clothes. 'Maggie needs help, and you're the closest. She's trying to stop a man from bleeding to death in the quarry gully. They're at the coastal path end. If you take Sir Jasper and get up there PDQ, then the man stands a chance. Otherwise-'
'But I'm not dressed,' she interrupted indignantly.
'I couldn't give a shit,' he said bluntly. 'Get your arse up there and give your daughter some support because, by God, it'll be a first if you do.'
'How dare-'
He cut her off and set in motion the series of calls thai would result in the Portland Search and Rescue helicopter being scrambled in the direction of St. Alban's Head for the second time in less than a week, when the ambulance service expressed doubt about their ability to reach a man in a remote grassy valley before he bled to death.
By the time Nick Ingram reached the scene, having driven his Jeep at breakneck speed along narrow lanes and up the bridleway, the drama was effectively over. The helicopter was on the ground some fifty yards from the scene of the accident, engine idling; Harding was conscious and sitting up being attended by a paramedic; and another hundred yards to the south of the helicopter and halfway up the hillside, Maggie was busy trying to catch Stinger, who rolled his eyes and backed away from her every time she came too close. She was clearly trying to head him off from the cliff edge, but he was too frightened of the helicopter to move in its direction, and all she was succeeding in doing was driving him toward the three-foot-high fence and the perilously steep steps that edged the cliff. Celia, clad in a pair of pajama trousers and a tannin-stained bedjacket, stood arrogantly to one side with one hand grasping Sir Jasper's reins tightly beneath his chin and the other wound into the looped end in case he, too, decided to bolt. She favored Ingram with a frosty glare, designed to freeze him in his tracks, but he ignored her and turned his attention to Harding.
'Are you all right, sir?'
The young man nodded. He was dressed in Levi's and a pale green sweatshirt, both of which were copiously splattered with blood, and his lower right arm was tightly bandaged.
Ingram turned to the paramedic. 'What's the damage?'
'He'll live,' said the man. 'The two ladies managed to stop the bleeding. He'll need stitching, so we'll take him to Poole and get him sorted there.' He drew Nick aside. 'The young lady could do with some attention. She's shaking like a leaf, but she says it's more important to catch the horse. The trouble is he's torn his reins off, and she can't get close enough to get a grip on his throat strap.' He jerked his head toward Celia. 'And the older one's not much better. She's got arthritis, and she wrecked her hip riding up here. By rights, we ought to take them with us, but they're adamant they won't leave the animals. There's also a time problem. We need to get moving, but the loose horse is going to bolt in real earnest the minute we take off. It's terrified out of its wits already and damn nearly skidded over the cliff when we landed.'
'Where's the dog?'
'Vanished. I gather the young lady had to thrash him with his lead to get him off the lad, and he's fled with his tail between his legs.'
Nick rumpled his sleep-tousled hair. 'Okay, can you give us another five minutes? If I help Miss Jenner round up the horse, we may be able to persuade her mother to go in for some treatment. How about it?'
The paramedic turned to look at Steven Harding. 'Why not? He says he's strong enough to walk, but it'll take me a good five minutes to get him in and settled. I don't fancy your chances much, but good luck.'
With a wry smile, Nick put his fingers to his lips and gave a piercing whistle before scanning both hillsides with narrowed eyes. To his relief, he saw Bertie rise out of the grass on the breast of Emmetts Hill about two hundred and fifty yards away. He gave another whistle, and the dog came like a torpedo toward him. He raised his arm and dropped him to the ground when he was still fifty yards away, then went back to Celia. 'I need a quick decision,' he told her. 'We've got five minutes to catch Stinger before the helicopter leaves, and it strikes me Maggie'll have more chance if she's riding Sir Jasper. You're the expert. Do I take him up to her or do I leave him with you, bearing in mind I know nothing about horses and Jasper's likely to be just as frightened of the noise as Stinger is?'
She was a sensible woman and didn't waste time on recriminations. She handed the loop of the reins into his left hand and guided his right into position under Jasper's chin. 'Keep clicking your tongue,' she said, 'and he'll follow. Don't try and run, and don't let go. We can't afford to lose both of them. Remind Maggie they'll both go mad the minute the helicopter takes off, so tell her to ride like the devil for the middle of the headland and give herself some space.'
He set off up the slope, whistling Bertie to follow and gathering him in to his left leg so that the dog walked like a shadow beside him.
