“Then it was some invisible hand, reaching out from I don’t know where.”

He looked up whimsically at the sky and smiled at the conceit.

Martin stepped forward to receive Dolly, when they came into the stable end of the grove, but his face expressed no surprise at sight of Chris coming in on foot.  Chris lingered behind Lute for moment.

“Can you shoot a horse?” he asked.

The groom nodded, then added, “Yes, sir,” with a second and deeper nod.

“How do you do it?”

“Draw a line from the eyes to the ears—­I mean the opposite ears, sir.  And where the lines cross—­”

“That will do,” Chris interrupted.  “You know the watering place at the second bend.  You’ll find Ban there with a broken back.”

* * *

“Oh, here you are, sir.  I have been looking for you everywhere since dinner.  You are wanted immediately.”

Chris tossed his cigar away, then went over and pressed his foot on its glowing fire.

“You haven’t told anybody about it?—­Ban?” he queried.

Lute shook her head.  “They’ll learn soon enough.  Martin will mention it to Uncle Robert tomorrow.”

“But don’t feel too bad about it,” she said, after a moment’s pause, slipping her hand into his.

“He was my colt,” he said.  “Nobody has ridden him but you.  I broke him myself.  I knew him from the time he was born.  I knew every bit of him, every trick, every caper, and I would have staked my life that it was impossible for him to do a thing like this.  There was no warning, no fighting for the bit, no previous unruliness.  I have been thinking it over.  He didn’t fight for the bit, for that matter.  He wasn’t unruly, nor disobedient.  There wasn’t time.  It was an impulse, and he acted upon it like lightning.  I am astounded now at the swiftness with which it took place.  Inside the first second we were over the edge and falling.

“It was deliberate—­deliberate suicide.  And attempted murder.  It was a trap.  I was the victim.  He had me, and he threw himself over with me.  Yet he did not hate me.  He loved me . . . as much as it is possible for a horse to love.  I am confounded.  I cannot understand it any more than you can understand Dolly’s behavior yesterday.”

“But horses go insane, Chris,” Lute said.  “You know that.  It’s merely coincidence that two horses in two days should have spells under you.”

“That’s the only explanation,” he answered, starting off with her.  “But why am I wanted urgently?”

“Planchette.”

“Oh, I remember.  It will be a new experience to me.  Somehow I missed it when it was all the rage long ago.”

“So did all of us,” Lute replied, “except Mrs. Grantly.  It is her favorite phantom, it seems.”

“A weird little thing,” he remarked.  “Bundle of nerves and black eyes.  I’ll wager she doesn’t weigh ninety pounds, and most of that’s magnetism.”