“Then you’re quite used to sleeping on the ground, with your clothing on?” pursued Irene.
“We’re used to everything except the trousers!” laughed Marjorie. “And we’re certainly getting used to them now.”
A few minutes later the party were on their way. The weather was clear and warm, and the prospect for a fair week promising; the horses were fresh, and the riding smooth and easy. It was Mr. Hilton who first introduced a discordant note.
“I don’t want to scare you,” he said, “for there is really no danger if you follow in our tracks, but we are going to pass over some mines in a few minutes. The riding won’t be so easy for a while, but after that part of our journey is over, the rest is fine.”
“Oh, we don’t mind anything!” said Marjorie, cheerfully. “I think it’s all wonderful. Walt Whitman sang the glories of the open road, but he only spoke about tramping. Following a trail on horseback seems infinitely more alluring to me.”
“There’s another point we have in common,” remarked Kirk Smith, who had been riding behind Marjorie.
“Another?” repeated the girl, unaware that she had anything in common with this strange young man.
“Yes, you seem to share my desire in trying to avoid the members of the opposite sex.”
Marjorie laughed.
“I don’t try to avoid anybody,” she said. “But I also don’t run after anybody.”