Meantime Io wanted to rest and think.
Time enough for that was to be hers, it appeared. Her first night as a guest had been spent in a semi-enclosed porch, to which every breeze wafted the spicy and restful balm of the wet pines. Io’s hot brain cooled itself in that peace. Quite with a feeling of welcome she accepted the windy downpour which came with the morning to keep her indoors, as if it were a friendly and opportune jailer. Reaction from the mental strain and the physical shock had set in. She wanted only, as she expressed it to her hostess, to “laze” for a while.
“Then this is the ideal spot for you,” Miss Van Arsdale answered her. “I’m going to ride over to town.”
“In this gale?” asked the surprised girl.
“Oh, I’m weather-proof. Tell Pedro not to wait luncheon for me. And keep an eye on him if you want anything fit to eat. He’s the worst cook west of the plains. You’ll find books, and the piano to amuse you when you get up.”
She rode away, straight and supple in the saddle, and Io went back to sleep again. Halfway to her destination, Miss Van Arsdale’s woods-trained ear caught the sound of another horse’s hooves, taking a short cut across a bend in the trail. To her halloo, Banneker’s clear voice responded. She waited and presently he rode up to her.
“Come back with me,” she invited after acknowledging his greeting.
“I was going over to see Miss Welland.”
“Wait until to-morrow. She is resting.”
A shade of disappointment crossed his face. “All right,” he agreed. “I wanted to tell her that her messages got off all right.”