The horse nipped her shoulder in a weak attempt at playfulness, as if to signify that he quite understood.
Connie’s eyes brightened at a sudden thought. “Peggy dear,” she whispered softly as she nestled her cheek against his soft mane, “do you know that I can have some nice clothes now? Lots and lots of nice things. I am going to buy you a blanket—a nice thick one for winter—and some ribbons for your mane. And you, Peggy”—with a flood of tenderness in her voice—“you won all this for me.”
She was crooning sweet nothings in his ear that only Pegasus could understand when her father appeared, breathless from running, his face grey and anxious.
“Are you all right, Constance darling?”
Connie stepped forward. She was pale and weak, but her colourless lips tried to form a smile.
“Yes, Daddy dear—I’m—all—ri——” Her voice trailed to a whisper and the blue eyes closed as darkness fell upon her like a cloud. Swaying uncertainly for an instant, she fell like a broken flower into her father’s outstretched arms. For the first time in her life Connie had fainted. She lay like a child in his trembling arms, her upturned face wearing the pallor of death.
With a prayer on his lips and an agony of fear in his heart, her father carried her to the cabin and tenderly stretched the bruised little body on the coarse blankets of her bunk.
CHAPTER XVIII
At the race-course the crowd eddied excitedly about the judges’ stand, or stood in groups talking of the wonderful performance of the spotted cayuse that had made the erstwhile champion appear a mere tyro.
Gillis came riding slowly from the woods and was hailed by questioning shouts from a score of throats.