"You made more than four miles an hour, when Captain Frazer and I
were watching you, the other day, Mr. Weldon."
"Yes, twenty at least. Still, as you may have noticed, my mount
doesn't always choose the straightest course. If she elects to go to
Maitland by way of Durban, it will take me all of the hour to make
the journey."
She laughed at his words. Then of a sudden her face grew grave.
"They've no right to give you such a horse, Mr. Weldon."
"Right? Oh, I beg pardon. I chose it."
"Is your life so unhappy?" she questioned, in mocking rebuke.
"It is no suicidal mania, Miss Dent," he reassured her. "I like the
rush and excitement of it all; but I had a summer on a ranch, and I
learned the trick of sitting tight until the beast tires itself out.
Broncho-busting is only a concrete form of philosophy, after all."
"And must you really go?" she asked him.
He lingered and hesitated. Then, with a glance at the horse fastened
to a post in the drive below, he straightened his shoulders.
"I must."
She rose to her feet.
"Good afternoon, then."
"And good by," he added.
"What does that mean?"
"That we leave Maitland Camp in the morning.
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