thicket she could hear a tremendous crashing of brush
and branches. Then the mare burst through and into the open, falling
to her knees, exhausted, on the soft earth. She arose and staggered
forward, then came limply to a halt. She was in lather-sweat of fear,
and stood trembling pitiably.

Chris was still on her back. His shirt was in ribbons. The backs of his
hands were bruised and lacerated, while his face was streaming blood
from a gash near the temple. Lute had controlled herself well, but now
she was aware of a quick nausea and a trembling of weakness.

"Chris!" she said, so softly that it was almost a whisper. Then she
sighed, "Thank God."

"Oh, I'm all right," he cried to her, putting into his voice all the
heartiness he could command, which was not much, for he had himself been
under no mean nervous strain.

He showed the reaction he was undergoing, when he swung down out of
the saddle. He began with a brave muscular display as he lifted his
leg over, but ended, on his feet, leaning against the limp Dolly for
support. Lute flashed out of her saddle, and her arms were about him in
an embrace of thankfulness.

"I know where there is a spring," she said, a moment later.

They left the horses standing untethered, and she led her lover into the
cool recesses of the thicket to where crystal water bubbled from out the
base of the mountain.

"What was that you said about Dolly's never cutting up?" he asked, when
the blood had been stanched and his nerves and pulse-beats were normal
again.

"I am stunned," Lute answered. "I cannot understand it. She never did
anything like it in all her life. And all animals like you so--it's not
because of that. Why, she is a child's horse. I was only a little girl
when I first rode her, and to this day--"

"Well, this day she was everything but a child's horse," Chris broke in.
"She was a devil. She tried to scrape me off against the trees, and to
batter my brains out against the limbs. She tried all the lowest and
narrowest places she could find. You should have seen her squeeze
through. And did you see those bucks?"

Lute nodded.

"Regular bucking-bronco proposition."

"But what should she know about bucking?" Lute demanded. "She was never
known to buck--never."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Some forgotten instinct, perhaps,
long-lapsed and come to life again."

The girl rose to her feet determinedly. "I'm going to find out," she
said.

They went back to the hor