white arm in the air and flashed a smile of acknowledgment to Forrest;
and, as Graham noted, she was cool enough to note him on his horse
beside Forrest. Also, Graham realized that the turning of her head and
the waving of her arm was only partly in bravado, was more in
aesthetic wisdom of the picture she composed, and was, most of all,
sheer joy of daring and emprise of the blood and the flesh and the
life that was she.

"Not many women'd tackle that," Dick said quietly, as Mountain Lad,
easily retaining his horizontal position once it had been attained,
swam to the lower end of the tank and floundered up the rough slope to
the anxious cowboy.

The latter swiftly adjusted the halter with a turn of chain between
the jaws. But Paula, still astride, leaned forward, imperiously took
the lead-part from the cowboy, whirled Mountain Lad around to face
Forrest, and saluted.

"Now you will have to go away," she called. "This is our hen party,
and the stag public is not admitted."

Dick laughed, saluted acknowledgment, and led the way back through the
lilacs to the road.

"Who ... who was it?" Graham queried.

"Paula--Mrs. Forrest--the boy girl, the child that never grew up, the
grittiest puff of rose-dust that was ever woman."

"My breath is quite taken away," Graham said. "Do your people do such