Jean’s cheeks were still crimson, but it was as much from laughter as embarrassment.
“Really, Mr. Loring,” she exclaimed, half breathlessly, “you seem to be always in the position of a rescuer.”
“Your horses do seem to have a taste for adventure,” he replied. “Perhaps I may be allowed to accompany you on your ride this afternoon,” continued Stephen. “There might, you know, be other saloons which your pony was in the habit of visiting.”
“I think it would be safer,” assented Jean.
They were nearing the crest of the hill, and the trail broadened so that they could ride abreast. A bevy of quail flushed suddenly up from the ground, strumming the air sharply. A little further on, a jack-rabbit jumped into the center of the trail, looked about, then dove into the underbrush. To a mind in its normal condition, these things were but commonplaces. To Stephen it seemed as if all nature were in an exuberant mood. The very creak of the leather, or ring of steel, as now and then one of the horses’ hoofs struck on stone, fell in with the tenor of his spirits. There are few men who could ride over the Arizona hills with Jean Cameron and doubt the gloriousness of existence.
At the summit they drew rein to breathe the horses. Before them lay the valley of the “Dripping Spring Wash.” For miles the belt of white sand in the bottom stretched away darkened with clumps of drab sage-brush, or with tall wavy lines which they knew must be cactus. Whiter than the sand, far out in the valley, a tent gleamed. Here and there a few moving specks betokened range cattle. Framing it all were great mountains, as irregular and barren as floe ice,—blue, purple, and brown, with streaks of yellow where the hot rays of the sun struck upon bare earth. All the detail of the rocky contour showed in the clear air. The mountains at the end of the valley, forty miles away, seemed as distinct as if within a mile. In silence the riders sat their horses, looking straight before them.
“I never knew how big life could be until I saw Arizona,” exclaimed Jean.
“I never knew how big life could be until—”
“Until what, Mr. Loring?”