Let's be sensible about it. You know I like you.
I'm glad you care--for--what you think I am."
"That's it. You are always so kind to a fellow that it makes me feel
mean to speak like I have. You listened--and I am pretty glad of that."
He turned and caught Boyar's bridle. Mounting he caught up Yuma and
Rally. Slowly Collie and the girl rode the trail to the level of the
summit. Slowly they dropped down the descent into Moonstone Canon. The
letter, Overland Red, Silent Saunders, were forgotten. Side by side
plodded the pony Yuma and Black Boyar. Rally followed. The trees on the
western edge of the canon threw long, shadowy bars of dusk across the
road. Quail called from the hillside. Other quail answered plaintively
from a distance. Alternate warmth and coolness swam in the air and
touched the riders' faces.
At a bend in the road the ponies crowded together. Collie's hand
accidentally brushed against the girl's and she drew away. He glanced
up quickly. She was gazing straight ahead at the distant peaks. He felt
strangely pleased that she had drawn away from him when his hand touched
hers. Some instinct told him that their old friendship had given place
to something else--something as yet too vague to describe.
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