Suddenly the ’breed looked at Bess. “But perhaps you use a side-saddle, Miss Fletcher? In that case I fear you’ll have to be disappointed, and go in the stage after all.”
“Oh, my, no!” she cried before the words were out of his mouth. “James taught me to ride like a boy, and besides I know how a horse should be guided across the neck.” Her chin went up with a saucy tilt at her superior knowledge as she went around in front of the horse to “get acquainted,” as she called it. West watched her as she rubbed her nose against the dainty animal’s, unconscious of his interest.
“So your name is Mauchacho? I wonder what that means? And you have a forelock which bothers your eyes, the same as mine does. I wonder if you are used to skirts?”
West came around where she was standing, and as if in reply to the questions which she had been asking the horse, he said, “Mauchacho was my sister’s horse. He has never been used at any of the round-ups. No one has been on his back, excepting myself, since—since Helen—” After a moment he went on: “I named him Mauchacho because it is the Indian word for bird. He is very swift, and in a race always takes the lead.” He snapped his fingers, and the horse lifted up his front foot and daintily placed it in his master’s hand.
“Shake hands with your new mistress now.” Then he added: “Take him. He is yours to keep, Miss Fletcher.” Before Bess could recover from her astonishment and embarrassment he added: “I notice that you have the same idiosyncrasy that Mauchacho has.” Bess tried to think if his remark was a reflection on her unruly foretop, and was about to ask him, when he left her and walked to James, already seated in the stage.
Presently, when he turned, he saw Bess already in the saddle and adjusting her skirts. With a smile at her independence, he swung into his own saddle and started up the road, saying: “We’ll lead, as the stage may be a little slow and the dust is annoying.”
Bess turned to wave her hand and throw a kiss in farewell to Mrs. Strong and Mabel, who had come out on the porch to witness the departure. With a parting “Don’t get lonely nor tired, brother,” and a wave of her handkerchief toward the stage, she urged Mauchacho forward to join Eagle and his rider.
The horses started steadily up the road which wound around the hillside. West had not spoken since she joined him, but silently made notes of her graceful seat in the saddle; how she held the reins firmly, yet lightly, in her left hand; how her shoulders were flung back; how her nostrils were dilating and her chest was moving in rhythmic, full breathing. Once, as she breathed long and deep, she cried out, “Oh, it seems as if I never shall get all this delicious air I want! What a glorious morning! See, the sun is only just peeping over the hills! Oh, the lazy old fellow! What time is it, I wonder?”
Henry West replied without first glancing at his watch, “It is about half after seven,” but to assure her he opened his watch and simply added, “Yes.”
“You stood there last evening,” he said, pointing to the flat boulder upon which Bess had stood so tremblingly in the twilight. “I felt that it was you.”