feet with the clinging burden once more maddeningly
in place, and go again through a maze of fence-rowing
and sun-fishing until suddenly he straightened out
and bolted down the slope like a runaway locomotive
on a downgrade. A terrifying spectacle, but the
rider sat erect, with one arm raised high above his
head in triumph, and his yell trailing off behind him.
From a running gait the stallion fell into a smooth
pace—a true wild pacer, his hoofs beating
the ground with the force and speed of pistons and
hurling himself forward with incredible strides.
Horse and rider lurched out of sight among the silver
spruce.
“By the Lord, wonderful!” cried Vance
Cornish.
He heard a stifled cry beside him, a cry of infinite
pain.
“Is—is it over?”
And there sat Elizabeth the Indomitable with her face
buried in her hands like a girl of sixteen!
“Of course it’s over,” said Vance,
wondering profoundly.
She seemed to dread to look up. “And—Terence?”
“He’s all right. Ever hear of a horse
that could get that young wildcat out of the saddle?
He clings as if he had claws. But—where
did he get that red devil?”
“Terence ran him down—in the mountains—somewhere,”
she answered, speaking as one who had only half heard
the question. “Two months of constant trailing
to do it, I think. But oh, you’re right!
The horse is a devil! And sometimes I think—”
She stopped, shuddering. Vance had returned to
the ranch only the day before after a long absence.
More and more, after he had been away, he found it
difficult to get in touch with things on the ranch.
Once he had been a necessary part of the inner life.
Now he was on the outside. Terence and Elizabeth
were a perfectly completed circle in themselves.
“If Terry worries you like this,” suggested
her brother kindly, “why don’t you forbid
these pranks?”
She looked at him as if in surprise.
“Forbid Terry?” she echoed, and then smiled.
Decidedly this was her first tone, a soft tone that
came from deep in her throat. Instinctively Vance
contrasted it with the way she had spoken to him.
But it was always this way when Terry was mentioned.
For the first time he saw it clearly. It was
amazing how blind he had been. “Forbid Terence?
Vance, that devil of a horse is part of his life.
He was on a hunting trip when he saw Le Sangre—”
“Good Lord, did they call the horse that?”
“A French-Canadian was the first to discover
him, and he gave the name. And he’s the
color of blood, really. Well, Terence saw Le Sangre
on a hilltop against the sky. And he literally
went mad. Actually, he struck out on foot with
his rifle and lived in the country and never stopped
walking until he wore down Le Sangre somehow and brought
him back hobbled—just skin and bones, and
Terence not much more. Now Le Sangre is himself
again, and he and Terence have a fight—like
that—every day. I dream about it;
the most horrible nightmares!”
