or yards, unless sooner brought up
against tree or rock.

Most of the color had left Ashton's cheeks, but his full lips were set
in resolute lines. His gaze alertly took in the ground before his
horse and at the same time the girl's graceful, swaying figure.
Fortunately he knew enough to let his horse pick his own way. But such
a way as it was! Had not the two animals been as surefooted as goats
and as quick as cats, both must have pitched head over heels, not
once, but a score of times.

They had leaped down over numbers of rocks and logs and ledges, and
the girl had not cast back a single glance to see if Ashton was
following. But as they plunged down an open slope she suddenly twisted
about and flung up a warning hand.

"Here's a jump!" she cried--as though they had not been jumping every
few yards since the beginning of that mad descent.

Hardly had she faced about again when her pony leaped and dropped with
her clear out of sight. Ashton gasped and started to draw rein. He was
too late. Three strides brought his horse to a ledge fully six feet
high. The beast leaped over the edge without making the slightest
effort to check himself.

Ashton uttered a startled cry, but poised himself for the shock with
the cleverness of a skillful rider. His pony landed squarely, and at
once started on again as if nothing unusual had happened.

The girl was already racing down the lower slope, which was more
moderate, or rather, less immoderate than that above the ledge. She
looked around and waved her hand gayly when she saw that Ashton had
kept his seat.

The salute so fired him that he gave his pony the spur and dashed
recklessly down to overtake her. At last he raced alongside and a
little past her. She looked at his overridden pony and drew rein.

"Hold on," she said. "Better pull up a bit. You don't want to blow
your hawss. 'Tisn't everyone can take that jump as neatly as he did."

"But the others?" he panted--"they'll beat us!"

"They cut down to the right. It's nothing to worry about if they do
head us. They've got the best hawsses. We'll jog the rest of the
way."

"Of course," he hastened to agree, "if you prefer."

"I'd prefer to lope uphill and down, but--" she nodded towards his
pony's heaving flanks--"no use riding a willing hawss to death."

"No danger of that with this old nag. He's tough as a mule," Ashton
assured her, though he followed her example by pulling his mount in to
a walk.

"A mule knows