"
"Then I don't mind anything else. I'm accustomed to horses," said
Beatrice, and smiled welcome to Sir Redmond, who came up with them at
that moment.
"You want to ride him with a light rein," Keith cautioned, clinging to
the subject. "He's tenderbitted, and nervous. He won't stand for any
jerking, you see."
"I never jerk, Mr. Cameron." Keith discovered that big, baffling,
blue-brown eyes can, if they wish, rival liquid air for coldness. "I
rode horses before I came to Montana."
Of course, when a man gets frozen with a girl's eyes, and scorched with
a girl's sarcasm, the thing for him to do is to retreat until the
atmosphere becomes normal. Keith fell behind just as soon as he could do
so with some show of dignity, and for several miles tried to convince
himself that he would rather talk to Dick and "the old maid" than not.
"Don't you know," Sir Redmond remarked sympathetically, "some of these
Western fellows are inclined to be deuced officious and impertinent."
Sir Redmond got a taste of the freezing process that made him change the
subject abruptly.
The way was rough and lonely; the trail wound over sharp-nosed hills and
through deep, narrow coulees, with occasional, tantalizing glimpses of
the river and the open land beyond, that kept Beatrice in a fever of
enthusiasm. From riding blithely ahead, she took to lagging far behind
with her kodak, getting snap-shots of the choicest bits of scenery.
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