This piece of wit so tickled Pinto Pete that he nearly stampeded the bunch by bursting again into his ear-splitting laugh. Sarah grabbed the handy pommel with a nervous clutch that was eloquent of her state of mind. And that action was all that saved her. For Comanche, taking Pete's guffaw for a command, leaped forward like a cat, and a moment later the whole crowd was galloping madly across the level meadow.
It is probable that if Sarah's hair had not already been as light as hair can well be, that wild ride would have turned it several shades lighter. The terrors that were compressed into those two hours are beyond description, while the bobbing, bumping and shaking of her poor plump body left reminders that only time and witch hazel were able to eradicate.
When they returned at noon Gertrudis had a wonderful dinner awaiting them, and the riders, with their appetites freshened by the air and exercise, fell upon it like a pack of famished wolves. All except Sarah. Protesting that she was not in the least hungry, she went at once to her room. On the little stand by her bed lay the Spanish grammar and dictionary, mute evidences of the way she had intended to spend the siesta hour. She gave them not so much as a glance, but stepping out of her clothes left them in a heap where they fell,—an action indicating a state of demoralization hardly to be believed of the parson's daughter,—and flung herself into bed with a groan.
Two hours later she was awakened by the other four girls who had turned inquisitors, and while two were stripping off the bedclothes the other two applied a feather to the soles of her feet.
"Oh—is it morning?" gasped Sarah, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "It doesn't seem as if I had been asleep a minute."
"Such a waste of time!" quoted Kitty mockingly. "There's such a thing, Sarah, as overdoing the siesta," she taunted.
Sarah drew up her feet and sat on them, smothering the groan that arose to her lips at the action. Every bone and joint had a new and awful kind of ache, and in that minute Sarah wished she had never heard of the Blue Bonnet ranch. Just then came the welcome clatter of dishes and at the doorway appeared Benita bearing a tray of good things, while back of her was Grandmother Clyde.
"Now off with you,—you tormentors," the Señora commanded gaily. "This poor child must be nearly famished."
"Grandmother's pet!" sang Blue Bonnet over her shoulder, as obeying orders, the four girls left the suffering Sarah in peace.
Existence assumed a brighter hue to Sarah when she had eaten the generous repast Benita set before her; and when she had bathed and rubbed herself with the Pond's Extract Mrs. Clyde had secretly provided her with, life seemed once more worth living. But she was very quiet and moved with great circumspection for the rest of the day, quite content to leave to the others the handling of the fireworks in the evening.