inly tried to force down a queer lump that had
risen in her throat over the desolation of it all. It was not anything
like her father had pictured it! Men had the silly habit of exaggerating
in these things, she decided--they were rough themselves and they made the
mistake of thinking that great, grim things were attractive. What beauty
was there, for instance, in a country where there was nothing but space
and silence and grotesque weeds--and rain? Before she could answer this
question a sudden breeze swept over her; a few large drops of rain dashed
into her face, and her thoughts returned to herself.

The pony broke into a sharp lope and she allowed it to hold the pace,
wisely concluding that the animal was probably more familiar with the
country than she. She found herself wondering why she had not thought of
that before--when, for example, a few miles back she had deliberately
guided it out of a beaten trail toward a section of country where, she had
imagined, the traveling would be better. No doubt she had strayed from the
trail just there.

The drops of rain grew more frequent; they splashed into her face; she
could feel them striking her arms and shoulders. The pony's neck and mane
became moist under her hand, the darkness increased for a time and the
continuing rumble in the heavens presaged a steady downpour.

The pony moved faster now; it needed no urging, and Sheila held her breath
for fear that it might fall, straining her eyes to watch its limbs as they
moved with the sure regularity of an automaton. After a time they reached
the end of the level; Sheila could tell that the pony was negotiating
another rise, for it slackened speed appreciably and she felt herself
settling back against the cantle of the saddle. A little later she
realized that they were going down the opposite side of the rise, and a
moment later they were again on a level. A deeper blackness than they had
yet encountered rose on their right, and Sheila correctly decided it to be
caused by a stretch of wood that she had observed from the crest of the
rise where she had halted her pony for a view of the country. After an
interval, during which she debated the wisdom of directing her pony into
the wood for protection from the rain which was now coming against her
face in vicious slants, her pony nickered shrilly!

A thrill of fear assailed Sheila. She knew horses and was certain that
some living thing was on the trail in front of her. Haltin