The dance-hall was a blaze of light toward which the people flocked
like moths to a candle flame. As they pushed the horses past, the girl
glanced in. Framed in the doorway stood a man whose eyes met hers
squarely--eyes that, in the lamplight seemed to smile cynically as they
strayed past her and rested for a moment upon her companion, even as
the thin lips were drawn downward at their corners in a sardonic grin.
Unconsciously she brought her quirt down sharply, and her horse, glad
of the chance to stretch his legs after several days in the stall,
bounded forward and taking the bit in his teeth shot past the little
cluster of stores and saloons, past the straggling row of houses and
headed out on the trail that wound in and out among the cottonwood
clumps of the valley. At first, the girl tried vainly to check the
pace, but as the animal settled to a steady run a spirit of wild
exhilaration took possession of her--the feel of the horse bounding
beneath her, the muffled thud of his hoofs in the soft sand of the
trail, the alternating patches of moonlight and shadow, and the keen
tang of the night air--all seemed calling her, urging her on.
At the point where the trail rose abruptly in its ascent to the bench,
the horse slackened his pace and she brought him to a stand, and for
the first time since she left the town, realized she was not alone.
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