Neither did she thank him, with lips or with eyes, for his ready
consent. She seemed distrait--preoccupied, as if she, also, were
considering some weighty question.
Ford pushed back his chair, watching her furtively. She rose with Kate,
and glanced toward the window.
"I suppose I shall need my heaviest sweater," she remarked practically,
and as if the whole affair were too commonplace for discussion. "It does
look threatening. How soon will you want to start?" This without looking
toward Ford at all.
"Right away, if that suits you." Ford was still watchful, as if he had
not quite given up hope of reading her meaning.
She told him she would be ready by the time he had saddled, and she
appeared in the stable door while he was cinching the saddle on the
horse he meant to ride.
"I hope you haven't given me Dude," she said unemotionally. "He's
supposed to be gentle--but he bucked me off that day I sprained my
ankle, and all the excuse he had was that a rabbit jumped out from a
bush almost under his nose. I've lost faith in him since. Oh--it's
Hooligan, is it? I'm glad of that; Hooligan's a dear--and he has the
easiest gallop of any horse on the ranch.
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