The morning was too lovely to waste now that she had given up the hope of sleep.
Leaving the path, Jeanette set off across an open field.
Overhead the western larks were soaring and singing. The early spring wild flowers had gone, but the summer hedges of wild roses were in full bloom.
A few trees dotted the landscape, carefully planted and tended by the ranchmen. The pungent odor of the eucalyptus tree, an occasional scrub pine and tall bushes of sage alone broke Jeanette's view of the country.
Her pony swerved sharply before an object in his path.
Jeanette looked quickly down. Lying on the ground in a comfortable relaxed position was the figure of a boy about fifteen years old.
He had been asleep, but now sat up, looking indignant and rubbing his eyes.
"Your horse nearly ran over me! Why, you might have killed me!" he protested angrily.
