"She was a Black Death mare, that, no question," he said, and added slowly, his eye wandering over the colt: "Looks to me like a Berserk somehow." She had a feeling he was drawing her, and kept her face inscrutable in a way that did credit to the teaching of Monkey Brand. "If so, you've drawn a lucky number," continued the other. "Such things happen, you know."
Boy moved on, and was aware that he was following her.
She turned and saw his face.
There was no mischief in the man, and fluttering in his eyes there was that look of a hunted animal she had noticed in the Gap.
She stopped at once.
"What is it, Mr. Joses?" she asked.
She felt that he was calling to her for help.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Woodburn," he began.
"Yes, Mr. Joses."
Her deep voice was soft and encouraging as when she spoke to a sick creature or a child. Those who knew only the resolute girl, who went her own way with an almost fierce determination, would have been astonished at her tenderness.