Louise curbed
him gently with hand and voice as he stepped through the wide gateway of
the ranch.
He paced lightly across the first shallow ford. Then the narrowing walls
of the canon echoed his clean-cut steps--a patter of phantom hoof-beats
following him, stride for stride. Down the long, ever-winding road they
swung.
Louise, impelled to dreams by the languorous warm night and Boyar's easy
stride up the steep, touched his neck with the rein and turned him into
the Old Meadow Trail.
The tall, slender stems of the yucca and infrequent clumps of dwarfed
cacti cast clear-edged shadows on the bare, moonlit ground. Boyar,
sniffing, suddenly swung up and pivoted, his fore feet hanging over
sheer black emptiness. Louise leaned forward, reining him round. Even
before his fore feet touched the trail again, she heard the sibilant
_bur-r-ing_ of the cold, uncoiling thing as it slid down the blind
shadows of the hillside.
"I shan't believe in omens," she murmured.
She reassured the trembling Boyar, who fretted sideways and snorted as
he passed the spot where the snake had been coiled in the trail.
At the edge of the Old Meadow the girl dismounted, allowing Boyar to
graze at will.
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