‘Oh, I’m afraid you don’t like to have me here!’ reached him in the stillness.
‘Sure. Pick up your reins. We’re falling back—’
‘But he bumps so—’
‘They don’t make horses any smoother than he is. Want to get back in the car?’
‘No-o.’
‘You’re doing all right.’ He had lied in spite of himself, and this didn’t make him feel any better. Old Chester, tired as he was, couldn’t be expected to keep his feet trim, with no hand of authority communicating with the bit. Heat increased under Elbert’s collar. A heave in the road and his left hand shot out before he thought. It was clutched. Warm, small, firm. The two horses pulled apart a little, but the hand didn’t let go. He was afraid of yanking her out of the saddle.
‘I’m so sorry to make you cross. I think it was awful for Florabel to think of coming—oh—I’m falling!’
The hand slid out of his. He hurriedly dismounted. Mary was hanging sideways, both hands on the pommel. Elbert knew the abused look of Chester’s head, hanging low in the dark. He pushed her back up in the saddle.
‘Need any help?’ Slim sang back from in front.
‘No!’