"If any man could help, you'd be the one," was the answer. "But th' other day we sifted this thing down; it's up to th' man himself to be sure that he's ridin' th' open trail an' ain't got anything to cover up.
"But lately so much has happened that I don't feel free, even when I'm out on the valley. I feel, somehow, like I was under fence ... fenced in."
Nora and Ann continued their rides together and one afternoon they had gone to the westward in the direction of Bayard's ranch. It was at Nora's suggestion, after they had agreed that Bruce might be on his way to Yavapai that day. In the distance, they had sighted a rider and after watching him a time saw him wave his hat.
"That's him," the waitress said. "Here's some fine grass; let's give th' horses a bite an' let 'em cool till he comes up."
They waited there then, slouched in their saddles. Ann wanted to talk about something other than Bruce, because, at the mention of his name, that old chill was bound to assert itself in Nora.
"This is a better horse than the one I've had," she commented, stroking the pony's withers and hoping to start talk that would make the interval of waiting one of ease between them.
"Yes," agreed Nora, "but he's got a bad eye. I was afraid of him when we first started out, but he seems to be all right. Bruce had one that looked like him once an' he tried to pitch me off."
"Hold up your head, pony," Ann said, "You'll get us into trouble—"
Her horse, searching grass, had thrust his head under the pony Nora rode and, as Ann pulled on the reins, he responded with the alacrity of a nervous animal, striking the stirrup as he threw up his head. He crouched, backed, half turned and Nora's spur caught under the headstall of his bridle. It was a bridle without a throat-latch, and, at the first jerk, it slipped over his ears, the bit slid from his mouth and clattered on the rocks. Ann's first laugh changed to a cry of fright. Nora, with a jab of her spurs, started to send her pony close against the other, reaching out at the same time with her arms to encircle his head. But she was too late, too slow. The freed horse trotted off a few steps, throwing his nose to one side in curiosity, felt no restraint, broke into a lope, struck back along the road toward town and, surprised, frightened by his unexpected liberty, increased his pace to a panicky run.
Behind, Nora pulled her horse up sharply, knowing that to pursue would only set the runaway at a greater speed.