It had been a double triumph, this night's work.
Not only were the mares retaken, but they had proved their speed and
staying powers conclusively in the long run over the desert. Hervey
himself began hinting, as they rode on, that he would like "to clap a
saddle on that Lady Mary hoss, one of these days." In truth, her
purchase was vindicated completely and Marianne fell into a happy dream
of a ranch stocked with saddle horses all drawn from the blood of these
neat-footed mares. With such horses to offer, she could pick and cull
among the best "punchers" in the West.
Into the dream, appropriately enough, ran the neigh of a horse, long
drawn and shrill of pitch, interrupted by a sudden burst of
deep-throated curses from the riders. The six mares had come to a halt
with their beautiful heads raised to listen, and on a far-off hill, Mary
saw the signaler--a chestnut horse gleaming red in the morning light.
"It's him!" shouted Hervey. "The nervy devil has come back to give us a
look. Shorty, take a crack at him!"
For that matter, every man in the party was whipping his rifle out of
its holster as Mary raised her field glass hurriedly to study the
stranger.
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