"Oh, don't take off the saddle—it will detain you too long," said Cap, impatiently.
"My pretty Cap, I cannot get the cloth without taking it off," said the man, beginning to unbuckle the girth.
"Oh, yes, you can; you can draw it from under," persisted Cap.
"Impossible, my angel," said the man, lifting off the saddle from his horse and laying it carefully by the roadside.
Then he took off the gay, crimson saddle-cloth and carried it into the little clearing and began carefully to spread it down.
Now was Cap's time. Her horse had recovered from his fatigue. The stranger's horse was in the path before her. While the man's back was turned she raised her riding whip and, with a shout, gave the front horse a sharp lash that sent him galloping furiously ahead. Then, instantaneously putting whip to her own horse, she started into a run.
Hearing the shout, the lash and the starting of the horses, the baffled villain turned and saw that his game was lost; he had been outwitted by a child! He gnashed his teeth and shook his fist in rage.
Turning as she wheeled out of sight, Capitola—I am sorry to say—put her thumb to the side of her nose and whirled her fingers into a semicircle, in a gesture more expressive than elegant.