a wooden hook under the eaves of the house; and there was a
delicious stew of dried goat's flesh, served with a sauce which contained
just a faint flavor of peppers and garlic and herbs. And there was _pan_,
as delicate as wafers, and coffee.

Time and again, throughout the winter, the same horse made its appearance
at Sylvia's gate at the same hour, and Sylvia mounted and rode away out
the Quemado Road and disappeared, returning early in the afternoon.

If you had asked old Antonia about these movements of her mistress she
would have said: "Does not the senora need the air?" And she would have
added: "She is young." And finally she would have said: "I know nothing."

It is a matter of knowledge that occasionally Sylvia would meet the boy
from the stable when he arrived at the gate and instruct him gently to
take the horse away, as she would not require it that day; and I am not
sure she was not trying still to fight the battle which she had already
lost; but this, of course, is mere surmise.

And then a little cog in the machine slipped.

A ranchman who lived out on the north road happened to be in Eagle Pass
one evening as Harboro was passing through the town on his way home from
work. The ranchman's remark was entirely innocent, but rather unfortunate.
"A very excellent horsewoman, Mrs. Harboro," he remarked, among other
things.

Harboro did not understand.

"I met her riding out the road this forenoon," explained the ranchman.

"Oh, yes!" said Harboro. "Yes, she enjoys riding. I'm sorry, on her
account, that I haven't more liking for it myself."

He went on up the hill, pondering. It was strange that Sylvia had not told
him that she meant to go for a ride. She usually went into minute details
touching her outings.

He expected her to mention the matter when he got home, but she did not do
so. She seemed disposed not to confide in him throughout the entire
evening, and finally he remarked with an air of suddenly remembering: "And
so you went riding to-day?"

She frowned and lowered her eyes. She seemed to be trying to remember.
"Why, yes," she said, after a moment's silence. "Yes, I felt rather dull
this morning. You know I enjoy riding."

"I know you do," he responded cordially. "I'd like you to go often, if
you'll be careful not to take any chances." He smiled at the recollection
of the outcome of that ride of theirs to the Quemado, and of the
excitement with which they compared experiences when they