Lute leaned to the side and rested her hand for a moment on Dolly’s wet neck.
“Ban’s a sluggard alongside of her,” Chris affirmed. “Dolly’s all right, if she is in her Indian Summer.”
Lute nodded approval. “That’s a sweet way of putting it—Indian Summer. It just describes her. But she’s not lazy. She has all the fire and none of the folly. She is very wise, what of her years.”
“That accounts for it,” Chris demurred. “Her folly passed with her youth. Many’s the lively time she’s given you.”
“No,” Lute answered. “I never knew her really to cut up. I think the only trouble she ever gave me was when I was training her to open gates. She was afraid when they swung back upon her—the animal’s fear of the trap, perhaps. But she bravely got over it. And she never was vicious. She never bolted, nor bucked, nor cut up in all her life—never, not once.”
The horses went on at a walk, still breathing heavily from their run. The road wound along the bottom of the valley, now and again crossing the stream. From either side rose the drowsy purr of mowing-machines, punctuated by occasional sharp cries of the men who were gathering the hay-crop. On the western side of the valley the hills rose green and dark, but the eastern side was already burned brown and tan by the sun.
“There is summer, here is spring,” Lute said. “Oh, beautiful Sonoma Valley!”
Her eyes were glistening and her face was radiant with love of the land. Her gaze wandered on across orchard patches and sweeping vineyard stretches, seeking out the purple which seemed to hang like a dim smoke in the wrinkles of the hills and in the more distant canyon gorges. Far up, among the more rugged crests, where the steep slopes were covered with manzanita, she caught a glimpse of a clear space where the wild grass had not yet lost its green.
“Have you ever heard of the secret pasture?” she asked, her eyes still fixed on the remote green.
A snort of fear brought her eyes back to the man beside her. Dolly, upreared, with distended nostrils and wild eyes, was pawing the air madly with her fore legs. Chris threw himself forward against her neck to keep her from falling backward, and at the same time touched her with the spurs to compel her to drop her fore feet to the ground in order to obey the go-ahead impulse of the spurs.