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At least five miles he drove him thus, till the broncho's sides, like the rider's face, were red with blood mingled with sweat. Beth, at the climax, had gone down suddenly, leaning against the tree. She had not fainted, but was far too weak to stand. Her eyes only moved. She watched the two, that seemed welded into one, go racing madly against fatigue.
He mounted hastily and rode off, glad to be away from that reeking camp, and greatly elated with the success of the visit. He had learned a lot. And he was to hear more yet from Gautier. He felt that the renowned "hustler" was already in his clutches. His spurs went sharply into his broncho's flanks and he raced over the prairie towards the settlement.
Jeb, riding like mad, right across the loose shale in reckless risk of breaking his broncho's legs, was the only man visible. Eleanor turned and looked in wonderment at Polly, but when she saw the look of horror on her friend's face, she caught at her arm. "Polly! What do you think has happened?" "Oh, Nolla! I fear they are down in that gulch!
Indeed, at the light of friendship in his broncho's eyes, as well as at the pony's neigh of welcome, back there at the yard, he had felt a boundless pleasure in his veins. He patted the chestnut's neck, in his rough, brusque way of companionship, and the horse fairly quivered with pleasure. For nearly two hours the willing animal went zig-zagging up the rocky slopes.
Beyond the quiver of the dusky heat, they could see the drift of ash dust eddying to the wind like dirty snow. "I wish, sir, you would turn back here," urged Wayland; but Matthews was not heeding. He had gathered up the broncho's reins. "Time to be moving," he said. "'Tis my observation, Wayland, that the devil gets away from the saint because, he'll always ride one faster.
At first he thought it was a wild broncho, untamed and riderless; but as his eyes became accustomed to dust and sunlight, he discovered that the saddle held a girl. For the moment she had bent herself to the broncho's mane, which had the effect, together with the haze produced by the wind-blown dust, of rendering the animal apparently riderless. Seth drew up his mule and halted.
Instantly Suvy's old-time fulminate was jarred into violent response. He went up in the air prodigiously, a rigid, distorted thing of hardened muscles and engine-like activities. He came down like a new device for breaking rocks and the bucking he had always loved was on, in a fury of resentment. "Good boy!" said Van, who stood up stiffly, craning and bending to watch the broncho's fight.
Foam flecked from its crimsoned jaws and found a resting place on its sides and on the hairy chaps of its rider. Sweat rolled and streamed from its heaving flanks and was greedily sucked up by the drought-cursed alkali. Close to the rider's knee a bloody furrow ran forward and one of the broncho's ears was torn and limp.
Well, here goes for you, sergeant!" He wheeled as he spoke. Turning swiftly in his saddle, Cameron saw him raise his rifle. "Hold up, you devil!" he shouted, throwing his pony across the black broncho's track. The rifle rang out, the police horse staggered, swayed, and pitched to the earth, bringing his rider down with him. "Ah, Cameron, that was awkward of you," said Raven gently.
Where horse and rider lay was a good two miles, but within seven minutes he had reached the spot. Flinging the bridle over the broncho's neck, he dismounted. As he did so, a cry broke from him. It was, as it were, an answer to the "Oh, Orlando!" which had been ringing in his ears. There, lying upon the ground beside the horse, with its broken leg caught in a gopher's hole, was Louise.
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