CHAPTER XXXIII
A SPEECH
The Marshalls and Billy Winthrop came in their car. The ride through the
canon had been pleasant. They were talking about Overland. They had been
discussing the rearrangement of a great many things since the news of
Louise's heritage had become known.
"You had better close the muffler, Billy. You are frightening that
pony!"
"That's the Yuma colt," said Winthrop. "Overland is riding her."
"Overland?"
"Yes. He's coming to meet us."
Plunging through the crackling greasewood at the side of the road, the
Yuma colt leaped toward the car. In broad sombrero, blue silk
neckerchief, blue flannel shirt, and silver-studded leather chaps, was a
strangely familiar figure. The great silver spurs rang musically as the
pony reared. The figure gave easily to the wild plunging of the horse,
yet was as firm as iron in the saddle.
Anne drew a deep breath. It was not the grotesque, frock-coated Overland
of a recent visit, nor was it the ragged, unkempt vision Louise had
conjured up for her in relating the Old Meadow story. In fact, it was
not Overland Red at all, but Jack Summers, the range-rider of the old
red Abilene days. He was clean-shaven, vigorous, splendidly strong, and
confident.
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