"Glenn, I'm a faithful creature. You should be glad of that. I love New
York."
"Very well, then. Arizona to New York," he said, lightly brushing her cheek
with his lips. And swerving back into his saddle, he spurred his horse and
called back over his shoulder: "That mustang and Flo have beaten me many a
time. Come on."
It was not so much his words as his tone and look that roused Carley. Had
he resented her loyalty to the city of her nativity? Always there was a
little rift in the lute. Had his tone and look meant that Flo might catch
him if Carley could not? Absurd as the idea was, it spurred her to
recklessness. Her mustang did not need any more than to know she wanted him
to run. The road was of soft yellow earth flanked with green foliage and
overspread by pines. In a moment she was racing at a speed she had never
before half attained on a horse. Down the winding road Glenn's big steed
sped, his head low, his stride tremendous, his action beautiful. But Carley
saw the distance between them diminishing. Calico was overtaking the bay.
She cried out in the thrilling excitement of the moment. Glenn saw her
gaining and pressed his mount to greater speed. Still he could not draw
away from Calico.
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