"I never saw a prairie-fire in my
life."
"It's ten miles off," said Dick shortly, taking the steps at a jump.
"I don't care if it's twenty--I'm going. Sir Redmond, wait for me!"
"Be-atrice!" cried her mother detainingly; but Beatrice was gone to get
ready. A quick job she made of it; she threw a dark skirt over her thin,
white one, slipped into the nearest jacket, snatched her
riding-gauntlets off a chair where she had thrown them, and then
couldn't find her hat. That, however, did not trouble her. Down in the
hall she appropriated one of Dick's, off the hall tree, and announced
herself ready. Sir Redmond laughed, caught her hand, and they raced
together down to the stables before her mother had fully grasped the
situation.
"Isn't Rex saddled, Dick?"
Dick, his foot in the stirrup, stopped long enough to glance over his
shoulder at her. "You ready so soon? Jim, saddle Rex for Miss Lansell."
He swung up into the saddle.
"Aren't you going to wait, Dick?"
"Can't. Milord can bring you." And Dick was away on the run.
Men were hurrying here and there, every move counting something done.
While she stood there a wagon rattled out from the shadow of a haystack,
with empty water-barrels dancing a mad jig behind the high seat, where
the driver perched with feet braced and a whip in his hand. After him
dashed four or five riders, silent and businesslike.
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