Phillip laughed. “I don’t reckon I’ll trust him to you, John. You take Winchester.”
“You may both keep your own horses,” interrupted Margaret. “I shall ride Cardinal myself.”
“Nonsense,” cried Phillip.
“I shall; he is all right now, Phil; he’s tired to death.” She gathered up the reins with a little determined smile.
“Pardon me, Miss Ryerson, for interfering,” said John, “but I don’t think Cardinal can be trusted. He’s awfully nervous. I don’t think you ought to stay on him.”
Their eyes met. John’s were steady and Margaret’s gleamed with the light of battle. Her face was pale and there was a set smile about the mouth.
“Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Mr. North,” she answered calmly, “but I don’t think there is any danger now. Mount, gentlemen!”
John gazed at her with annoyance and admiration mingled. Phillip hesitated doubtfully with his foot in the stirrup.
“She’s splendid,” thought John, “but she ought to be pulled out of that saddle and kissed until she behaves!”
“Come, Cardinal!” called Margaret gaily. But she was watching John from the corners of her eyes and a tight rein countermanded her own order; Cardinal stood still. John drew his horse toward her and made a pretense of examining Cardinal’s girth. Then he said in tones that only Margaret could hear: