"Where's Martin?" Lute called, lifting; her voice in answer.
"I don't know," came the voice. "I think Robert took him along
somewhere--horse-buying, or
fishing, or I don't know what. There's really
nobody left but Chris and you. Besides, it will give you an
appetite for
dinner. You've been lounging in the
hammock all day. And Uncle Robert must
have his newspaper."
"All right, Aunty, we're starting," Lute called back, getting out of the
hammock.
A few minutes later, in riding-clothes, they were saddling the horses. They
rode out on to the county road, where blazed the afternoon sun, and turned
toward Glen Ellen. The little town slept in the sun, and the somnolent
storekeeper and postmaster scarcely kept his eyes open long enough to make up
the
packet of letters and newspapers.
An hour later Lute and Chris turned aside from the road and dipped along a
cow-path down the high bank to water the horses, before going into camp.
"Dolly looks as though she'd forgotten all about yesterday," Chris said, as
they sat their horses knee-deep in the rushing water. "Look at her."
The mare had raised her head and cocked her ears at the rustling of a quail in
the
thicket. Chris leaned over and rubbed around her ears. Dolly's enjoyment
was
evident, and she drooped her head over against the shoulder of his own
horse.
"Like a kitten," was Lute's comment.
"Yet I shall never be able
wholly to trust her again," Chris said. "Not after
yesterday's mad freak."
"I have a feeling myself that you are safer on Ban," Lute laughed. "It is
strange. My trust in Dolly is as implicit as ever. I feel
confident so far as
I am
concerned, but I should never care to see you on her back again. Now with
Ban, my faith is still unshaken. Look at that neck! Isn't he handsome! He'll
be as wise as Dolly when he is as old as she."
"I feel the same way," Chris laughed back. "Ban could never possibly betray
me."
They turned their horses out of the
stream. Dolly stopped to brush a fly from
her knee with her nose, and Ban urged past into the narrow way of the path.
The space was too restricted to make him return, save with much trouble, and
Chris allowed him to go on. Lute, riding behind, dwelt with her eyes upon her
lover's back, pleasuring in the lines of the bare neck and the sweep out to
the
muscular shoulders.
Suddenly she reined in her horse. She could do nothing but look, so brief was
the
duration of the
happening. Beneath and above was the almost
perpendicularbank. The path itself was
barely wide enough for
footing. Yet Washoe Ban,
whirling and rearing at the same time, toppled for a moment in the air and
fell
backward off the path.
So
unexpected and so quick was it, that the man was involved in the fall.
There had been no time for him to throw himself to the path. He was falling
ere he knew it, and he did the only thing possible--slipped the stirrups and
threw his body into the air, to the side, and at the same time down. It was
twelve feet to the rocks below. He maintained an
upright position, his head up
and his eyes fixed on the horse above him and falling upon him.
Chris struck like a cat, on his feet, on the
instant making a leap to the
side. The next
instant Ban crashed down beside him. The animal struggled
little, but sounded the terrible cry that horses sometimes sound when they
have received
mortal hurt. He had struck almost
squarely on his back, and in
that position he remained, his head twisted
partly under, his hind legs
relaxed and
motionless, his fore legs futilely
striking the air.
Chris looked up reassuringly.
"I am getting used to it," Lute smiled down to him. "Of course I need not ask
if you are hurt. Can I do anything?"
He smiled back and went over to the fallen beast, letting go the girths of the
saddle and getting the head straightened out.
"I thought so," he said, after a cursory
examination. "I thought so at the
time. Did you hear that sort of crunching snap?"
She shuddered.
"Well, that was the
punctuation of life, the final period dropped at the end
of Ban's usefulness." He started around to come up by the path. "I've been
astride of Ban for the last time. Let us go home."
At the top of the bank Chris turned and looked down.
"Good-by, Washoe Ban!" he called out. "Good-by, old fellow."
The animal was struggling to lift its head. There were tears in Chris's eyes
as he turned
abruptly away, and tears In Lute's eyes as they met his. She was
silent in her
sympathy, though the
pressure of her hand was firm in his as he
walked beside her horse down the dusty road.
"It was done
deliberately," Chris burst forth suddenly. "There was no warning.
He
deliberately flung himself over
backward."
"There was no warning," Lute concurred. "I was looking. I saw him. He whirled
and threw himself at the same time, just as if you had done it yourself, with
a
tremendous jerk and
backward pull on the bit."