“Right you are, lad. Find her, and fetch her back. And, say! Mercy says your own old Tempest horse is in the stable at the Fort; that it now belongs to the Sun Maid, and she’s the only one who ever rides it. The Captain gave it to her because she grieved so about you. I wouldn’t wonder if he’d travel nigh as fast as he used—when he run away before. I never saw the beat of you two young ones! As fast as a body catches up to you, off you run!”
Even amid the anxiety now renewed in Abel’s mind regarding Kitty, the humorous side of the situation appealed to him; but there was no answering smile on Gaspar’s face; only an anxiety and yearning beyond the comprehension of either of these honest, simple souls.
“Well, go on, then. Run your beatingest, in a bee line, due west. That’s the way she took, and that’s the trail you’ll find her on, if so be you find her at all.”
Those at the Fort looked, wondered, but did not object, as this dark voyageur strode straight into the stables and to a box stall where Tempest enjoyed a life of pampered indolence. They realized that this was no stranger, but one to whom all things were familiar—even the animal which answered so promptly to the cry:
“Tempest, old fellow!”
It was a voice he had never forgotten. The black gelding’s handsome head tossed in a thrill of delight, and the answering neigh to that love call was good to hear. In a moment Gaspar had found a saddle, slipped it into place, and, scarcely waiting to tighten its girth, had leaped upon the animal’s back.
“Forward, Tempest! Be true to your name!”
Those who saw the rush of the gallant creature through the open gates of the stockade acknowledged that he would be.