"Please," she said, starting Old Blue toward the west along the crest of the ridge, "don't be sentimental. I'm afraid—" she added, intending to say it would spoil their ride.
"You needn't be, with me along!" Skinny interrupted hastily, misinterpreting her meaning.
She laughed and without explaining urged her horse forward.
Skinny followed pensively on Old Pie Face.
The Ramblin' Kid, while going from barn to corral, glanced across the valley and saw Carolyn June and Skinny as they rode along the ridge. It was two miles from the ranch to the bluff on which they were riding, but so clear was the rain-washed air that the horses and riders were easily recognized. He watched them until they reached the corner of the upland pasture. There the roads from the lower and upper fords came together. The couple turned north along the fence and disappeared beyond the ridge.
For a mile Carolyn June and Skinny rode without speaking. He felt already a reaction from his over-boldness of a while ago and silently swore at himself for his rashness. She was not eager to resume a conversation that had threatened a painfully emotional turn. She was quite content to enjoy the fresh air of the morning, the changing scenes through which they passed and the easy motion of the horse on which she was mounted.
The bronchos pricked forward their ears at the sound of galloping hoofs.
"Somebody's coming," Skinny spoke as Pedro, riding rapidly toward them, rounded the point of a low hill a little distance ahead.
"What's wrong?" Skinny questioned, when the three met and stopped their horses.
"The pasture fence is bu'sted," Pedro answered; "at the northeast corner it is broke. The cattle are out. Ten—fifteen maybe—are dead—the lightning strike them perhaps. The others all of them are gone. They go pronto, stampede I think, toward the Purgatory. Chuck and me can not get them alone—I go to tell Old Heck so the boys will come and help!"