"Mlissy Mazaline glive me that; it all plenty me," he said. "You want me
come, I come. What you say do, I do. I say gloddam Mazaline!"
That scene came to Orlando's mind now, and it agitated him as the
incident itself had not stirred him when it happened. The broncho he was
riding, as though the disturbance in Orlando's breast had passed into its
own wilful body, suddenly became restless to be off, and as Orlando gave
no encouragement, showed signs of bucking.
At that moment Orlando saw in the distance, far north of both Tralee and
Slow Down Ranch, a horse, ridden by a woman, galloping on the prairie.
Presently as he watched the headlong gallop, the horse came down and the
rider was thrown. He watched intently for a moment, and then he saw that
the woman did not move, but lay still beside the fallen horse.
He dug his heels into the broncho's side, and although it had done its
day's work, it reached out upon the trail as though fresh from the
corral. It bucked malevolently as it went, but it went.
It was apparent that no one else had seen the accident. Orlando had been
at a point of vantage on a lonely rise about eighty feet above the level
of the prairie. 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.
Pages:
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90