He would
have received such an order from a man and never thought the less of
him, but the command was too stern for the smiling lips of Marianne.
To be sure, Perris was by no means a gentle rider. In fact, he rode so
_very_ hard that only fine horses could measure up to his demands, and
who, since the world began, has ridden many fine horses without coming
to love the entire race? Red Perris, at least, was such a man, and
indeed he spent many an hour dreaming of some happy day when he should
find beneath him a mount with speed like an eagle, soul of a lion, and
the gentle, trusting heart of a child.
Finally, the evening ended. He left the house and the puzzled smile
of Marianne behind him and went to the bunkhouse and a sleep of happy
dreams. But every dream ended with the thought of a wild chestnut
running into the circle of his rifle's sights, leaping into the air at
the report of his gun, and dropping inert on the grass. What wonder,
then, that when he wakened he thought of Marianne Jordan with mixed
emotions? Perhaps the really important point was that he thought of
her so much, whether for good or evil.
He went in with the other men to breakfast in the long dining-room of
the ranch house, and there was Marianne Jordan again presiding at the
head of the table.
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