Just for a moment Joan felt abashed at her deliberate attempt to pump her companion. Then the quick, inquiring survey of the beautiful horse was too much for her, and she left her seat to join in the caresses.
“Isn’t he a beauty?” she cried, smoothing his silken face from the star on his forehead to the tip of his wide muzzle.
Just for a second her hand came into contact with the man’s, and, all unconscious, she let it remain. Then suddenly realizing the position she drew it away rather sharply.
Buck made no move, but had she only looked up she must have noted the sudden pallor of his face. That brief touch, so unconscious, so unmeaning, had again set his pulses hammering through his body. And it had needed all his control to repress the fiery impulse that stirred him. He longed to kiss that soft white hand. He longed to take it in his own strong palms and hold it for his own, to keep it forever. But the moment passed, and when he spoke it was in the same pleasant, easy fashion.
“I kind o’ thought I ought to let him go with the farm,” he said, “only the Padre wouldn’t think of it. He’d have made a dandy feller for you to ride.”
But Joan was up in arms in a moment.
“I’d never have forgiven you if you’d parted with him,” she cried. “He’s—he’s perfectly beautiful.”
Buck nodded.
“He’s a good feller.” And his tone said far more than his words.
He led the beast to the door, and, giving him an affectionate slap, sent him trotting off.