Riding fast with Glenn was something Carley had only of late added to
her achievements. She had greatest pride in it. So she urged her mustang
to keep pace with Glenn's horse and gave herself up to the thrill of the
motion and feel of wind and sense of flying along. At a good swinging
lope Calico covered ground swiftly and did not tire. Carley rode the two
miles to the rim of the canyon, keeping alongside of Glenn all the way.
Indeed, for one long level stretch she and Glenn held hands. When they
arrived at the descent, which necessitated slow and careful riding,
she was hot and tingling and breathless, worked by the action into an
exuberance of pleasure. Glenn complimented her riding as well as her
rosy cheeks. There was indeed a sweetness in working at a task as she
had worked to learn to ride in Western fashion. Every turn of her mind
seemed to confront her with sobering antitheses of thought. Why had she
come to love to ride down a lonely desert road, through ragged cedars
where the wind whipped her face with fragrant wild breath, if at the
same time she hated the West? Could she hate a country, however barren
and rough, if it had saved the health and happiness of her future
husband? Verily there were problems for Carley to solve.
Early twilight purple lay low in the hollows and clefts of the canyon.
Over the western rim a pale ghost of the evening star seemed to smile
at Carley, to bid her look and look. Like a strain of distant music, the
dreamy hum of falling water, the murmur and melody of the stream, came
again to Carley's sensitive ear.
"Do you love this?" asked Glenn, when they reached the green-forested
canyon floor, with the yellow road winding away into the purple shadows.
"Yes, both the ride--and you," flashed Carley, contrarily. She knew he
had meant the deep-walled canyon with its brooding solitude.
"But I want you to love Arizona," he said.
"Glenn, I'm a faithful creature. You should be glad of that. I love New
York."
"Very well, then. Arizona to New York," he said, lightly brushing her
cheek with his lips. And swerving back into his saddle, he spurred his
horse and called back over his shoulder: "That mustang and Flo have
beaten me many a time. Come on."
It was not so much his words as his tone and look that roused Carley.
Had he resented her loyalty to the city of her nativity? Always there
was a little rift in the lute. Had his tone and look meant that Flo
might catch him if Carley could not? Absurd as the idea was, it spurred
her to recklessness. Her mustang did not need any more than to know she
wanted him to run. The road was of soft yellow earth flanked with green
foliage and overspread by pines. In a moment she was racing at a speed
she had never before half attained on a horse. Down the winding road
Glenn's big steed sped, his head low, his stride tremendous, his action
beautiful. But Carley saw the distance between them diminishing. Calico
was overtaking the bay. She cried out in the thrilling excitement of the
moment. Glenn saw her gaining and pressed his mount to greater speed.
Still he could not draw away from Calico. Slowly the little mustang
gained. It seemed to Carley that riding him required no effort at all.
And at such fast pace, with the wind roaring in her ears, the walls of
green vague and continuous in her sight, the sting of pine tips on cheek
and neck, the yellow road streaming toward her, under her, there rose
out of the depths of her, out of the tumult of her breast, a sense of
glorious exultation. She closed in on Glenn. From the flying hoofs of
his horse shot up showers of damp sand and gravel that covered Carley's
riding habit and spattered in her face. She had to hold up a hand before
her eyes. Perhaps this caused her to lose something of her confidence,
or her swing in the saddle, for suddenly she realized she was not riding
well. The pace was too fast for her inexperience. But nothing could have
stopped her then. No fear or awkwardness of hers should be allowed to
hamper that thoroughbred mustang. Carley felt that Calico understood
the situation; or at least he knew he could catch and pass this big bay
horse, and he intended to do it. Carley was hard put to it to hang on
and keep the flying sand from blinding her.