“What’s the hurry?” Ginny complained, coming up beside him, and he locked the buckle he was hauling on and gave the leather a couple of rapid loops through the three-quarter rig slots.
“You heard the shot, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“It just missed Freddie. So we’re moving before they try again.”
“Something’s always happening,” said Ginny resentfully, as if she had been shot at herself.
“Life is like that,” said the Saint, untying her horse and handing the reins to her.
As he turned to the next horse Esther came up. She was fully dressed again, except that her shirt was only half buttoned, and she looked smug and sulky at the same time.
“Did you hear what happened, Ginny?” she said. “There was a man hiding up in the hills, and he took a shot at Freddie. And if he was where Simon thought he was, he must have seen me sunbathing without anything on.”
“Tell Freddie that’s what made him miss,” Ginny suggested. “It might be worth some new silver foxes to you.”
A dumb look came into Esther’s beautifully sculptured face. She gazed foggily out at the landscape as the Saint cinched her saddle and thrust the reins into her limp hands.