I mounted and spurred my horse after Sally's. She was down on the level
now, out in the open, and giving her mount his head. Even had I wanted
to overhaul her at once the matter would have been difficult, well nigh
impossible under five miles.

Sally had as fast a horse as there was on the range; she made no weight
in the saddle, and she could ride. From time to time she looked back
over her shoulder.

I gained enough to make her think I was trying to catch her. Sally loved
a horse; she loved a race; she loved to win.

My good fortune had given me more than one ride alone with Sally. Miss
Sampson enjoyed riding, too; but she was not a madcap, and when she
accompanied us there was never any race.

When Sally got out alone with me she made me ride to keep her from
disappearing somewhere on the horizon. This morning I wanted her to
enjoy to the fullest her utter freedom and to feel that for once I could
not catch her.

Perhaps my declaration to Miss Sampson had liberated my strongest
emotions.

However that might be, the fact was that no ride before had ever been
like this one--no sky so blue, no scene so open, free, and enchanting as
that beautiful gray-green range, no wind so sweet. The breeze that
rushed at me might have been laden with the perfume of Sally Langdon's
hair.