Meantime Io wanted to rest and think.
Time enough for that was to be hers, it appeared. Her first night as a
guest had been spent in a semi-enclosed porch, to which every breeze
wafted the spicy and restful balm of the wet pines. Io's hot brain
cooled itself in that peace. Quite with a feeling of welcome she
accepted the windy downpour which came with the morning to keep her
indoors, as if it were a friendly and opportune jailer. Reaction from
the mental strain and the physical shock had set in. She wanted only, as
she expressed it to her hostess, to "laze" for a while.
"Then this is the ideal spot for you," Miss Van Arsdale answered her.
"I'm going to ride over to town."
"In this gale?" asked the surprised girl.
"Oh, I'm weather-proof. Tell Pedro not to wait luncheon for me. And keep
an eye on him if you want anything fit to eat. He's the worst cook west
of the plains. You'll find books, and the piano to amuse you when you
get up."
She rode away, straight and supple in the saddle, and Io went back to
sleep again. Halfway to her destination, Miss Van Arsdale's
woods-trained ear caught the sound of another horse's hooves, taking a
short cut across a bend in the trail. To her halloo, Banneker's clear
voice responded.
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