"Your friend ... so long as I don't set him on you!" he cried out.
"You are a beast ... who herd with beasts!" she said, shuddering.
He laughed again and finished drawing tight cinch and strapping latigo. He tied his small pack at the strings behind the saddle and said briefly:
"Since we're in a hurry, suppose you ride while I walk alongside? We'll make better time that way."
She was ashamed of herself—that she should have been afraid of a dog! Now she was Lynette again, quick and capable and confident. He was going to lend her a hand to mount; she forestalled him and went up into the saddle like a flash. It was in her thought to take him by surprise; to give Daylight his head and race away out of sight among the pines....
But he was scarcely less quick; his hand shot out, catching Daylight's reins; he unwound the chain from about his middle and snapped the catch into the horse's bit.... And she began to analyze, thinking:
"He took time to explain why he let me ride while he walked! He is less beast and brute than he knows himself!... Less beast and brute than ... simple humbug!" And, before they had gone ten steps, he heard her humming the air which she had sung at breakfast time.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, not for her to hear. "The little devil ... she's taking advantage of me, every advantage. She.... Just the same ... just the same...."
And he, too, was wondering about Babe Deveril!