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Page 53
Riding fast with Glenn was something Carley had only of late added to her
achievements. She had greatest pride in it. So she urged her mustang to
keep pace with Glenn's horse and gave herself up to the thrill of the
motion and feel of wind and sense of flying along. At a good swinging lope
Calico covered ground swiftly and did not tire. Carley rode the two miles
to the rim of the canyon, keeping alongside of Glenn all the way. Indeed,
for one long level stretch she and Glenn held hands. When they arrived at
the descent, which necessitated slow and careful riding, she was hot and
tingling and breathless, worked by the action into an exuberance of
pleasure. Glenn complimented her riding as well as her rosy cheeks. There
was indeed a sweetness in working at a task as she had worked to learn to
ride in Western fashion. Every turn of her mind seemed to confront her with
sobering antitheses of thought. Why had she come to love to ride down a
lonely desert road, through ragged cedars where the wind whipped her face
with fragrant wild breath, if at the same time she hated the West? Could
she hate a country, however barren and rough, if it had saved the health
and happiness of her future husband? Verily there were problems for Carley
to solve.
Early twilight purple lay low in the hollows and clefts of the canyon. Over
the western rim a pale ghost of the evening star seemed to smile at Carley,
to bid her look and look. Like a strain of distant music, the dreamy hum of
falling water, the murmur and melody of the stream, came again to Carley's
sensitive ear.
"Do you love this?" asked Glenn, when they reached the green-forested
canyon floor, with the yellow road winding away into the purple shadows.
"Yes, both the ride--and you," flashed Carley, contrarily. She knew he had
meant the deep-walled canyon with its brooding solitude.
"But I want you to love Arizona," he said.
"Glenn, I'm a faithful creature. You should be glad of that. I love New
York."
"Very well, then. Arizona to New York," he said, lightly brushing her cheek
with his lips. And swerving back into his saddle, he spurred his horse and
called back over his shoulder: "That mustang and Flo have beaten me many a
time. Come on."
It was not so much his words as his tone and look that roused Carley. Had
he resented her loyalty to the city of her nativity? Always there was a
little rift in the lute. Had his tone and look meant that Flo might catch
him if Carley could not? Absurd as the idea was, it spurred her to
recklessness. Her mustang did not need any more than to know she wanted him
to run. The road was of soft yellow earth flanked with green foliage and
overspread by pines. In a moment she was racing at a speed she had never
before half attained on a horse. Down the winding road Glenn's big steed
sped, his head low, his stride tremendous, his action beautiful. But Carley
saw the distance between them diminishing. Calico was overtaking the bay.
She cried out in the thrilling excitement of the moment. Glenn saw her
gaining and pressed his mount to greater speed. Still he could not draw
away from Calico. Slowly the little mustang gained. It seemed to Carley
that riding him required no effort at all. And at such fast pace, with the
wind roaring in her ears, the walls of green vague and continuous in her
sight, the sting of pine tips on cheek and neck, the yellow road streaming
toward her, under her, there rose out of the depths of her, out of the
tumult of her breast, a sense of glorious exultation. She closed in on
Glenn. From the flying hoofs of his horse shot up showers of damp sand and
gravel that covered Carley's riding habit and spattered in her face. She
had to hold up a hand before her eyes. Perhaps this caused her to lose
something of her confidence, or her swing in the saddle, for suddenly she
realized she was not riding well. The pace was too fast for her
inexperience. But nothing could have stopped her then. No fear or
awkwardness of hers should be allowed to hamper that thoroughbred mustang.
Carley felt that Calico understood the situation; or at least he knew he
could catch and pass this big bay horse, and he intended to do it. Carley
was hard put to it to hang on and keep the flying sand from blinding her.
When Calico drew alongside the bay horse and brought Carley breast to
breast with Glenn, and then inch by inch forged ahead of him, Carley pealed
out an exultant cry. Either it frightened Calico or inspired him, for he
shot right ahead of Glenn's horse. Then he lost the smooth, wonderful
action. He seemed hurtling through space at the expense of tremendous
muscular action. Carley could feel it. She lost her equilibrium. She seemed
rushing through a blurred green and black aisle of the forest with a gale
in her face. Then, with a sharp jolt, a break, Calico plunged to the sand.
Carley felt herself propelled forward out of the saddle into the air, and
down to strike with a sliding, stunning force that ended in sudden dark
oblivion.
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