“Oh, I have planned it all out,” replied John, relief coming to his voice as she turned away from danger with her head lowered as if in deep thought. Then she took him entirely unawares. With a spring forward like that of a lynx, she jerked the reins from his unprepared hand. Striking the horse sharply with the loose leather, making him snort and shy with fear, she then smote him with her open palms on the flank, and away he galloped in a panic of fright. The face she turned to the astonished man seemed transformed. The black eyes danced with delight. She sank to the log again, shaking with laughter.
“Oh! I was wrong, Mr. Steele, when I said you didn’t interest me! You do, you do! I have never met so interesting a man before. In twenty minutes, or thereabout, the riderless horse will gallop into my courtyard. Now, Mr. John Steele, of Chicago, what is the next move?”
“Well, logically,” said John Steele, unable to repress a smile, grave as was his situation and quick his recognition of its seriousness, “logically the next move should be for me to throw you over the cliff.”
“No, that wouldn’t be logical. It seems, to the poor reason that a woman possesses, Mr. Nicholson is the man who should be thrown over.”
“I am rather inclined to agree with you, Miss Berrington; but, alas! Nicholson is in New York, and you are the only member of the company now in my power.”
“Are you quite sure I am in your power?” she asked, looking up at him.
“Frankly, I’m inclined to doubt it.”