It was Keith and Redcloud--they two; and Keith
could smile over it.
He saw Beatrice's hat loosen and lift in front, flop uncertainly, and
then go sailing away into the sage-brush, and he noted where it fell,
that he might find it, later. Then he was close enough to see her face,
and wondered that there was so little fear written there. Beatrice was
plucky, and she rode well, her weight upon the bit; but her weight was
nothing to the clinched teeth of the horse; and, though she had known it
from the start, she was scarcely frightened. There was a good deal of
the daredevil in Beatrice; she trusted a great deal to blind luck.
Just there the land was level, and she hoped to check him on the slope
of the hill before them. She did not know it was moated like a castle,
with a washout ten feet deep and twice that in width, and that what
looked to her quite easy was utterly impossible.
Keith gained, every leap. In a moment he was close behind.
"Take your foot out of the stirrup," he commanded, harshly, and though
Beatrice wondered why, something in his voice made her obey.
Now Redcloud's nose was even with her elbow; the breath from his
wide-flaring nostrils rose hotly in her face. Another bound, and he had
forged ahead, neck and neck with Goldie, and it was Keith by her side,
keen-eyed and calm.
"Let go all hold," he said.
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