voices of two jabbering and gibbering
together--grinning like mindless creatures--throwing their hands out to
help their words, as poor Joseph does--bah, it is like drinking new
wine; it makes one sick. It made me so five times."

"Five times?" said Connor. "You have traveled a good deal, then?"

"Too much," sighed David. "And each time I returned from Parkin Crossing
I have cared less for what lies outside the valley."

"Parkin Crossing?"

"I have been told that there are five hundred people in the city," said
David, pronouncing the number slowly. "But when I was there, I was never
able to count more than fifty, I believe."

Connor found it necessary to cough.

"And each time you have left the valley you have gone no farther than
Parkin Crossing?" he asked mildly, his spirits rising.

"And is not that far enough?" replied the master, frowning. "It is a
ride between dawn and dark."

"What is that in miles?"

"A hundred and thirty miles," said David, "or thereabout."

Connor closed his eyes twice and then: "You rode that distance between
dawn and dark?"

"Yes."

"Over these mountains most of the way?" he continued gently.

"About half the distance," answered David.

"And how long"--queried Connor hoarsely--"how long before your horse was
able to make the trip back after you had ridden a hundred and thirty
miles in twelve hours?"

"The next day," said David, "I always return."

"In the same time?"

"In the same time," said David.

To doubt that simple voice was impossible. But Connor knew horses, and
his credence was strained to the breaking point.

"I should like very much," he said, "to see a horse that had covered two
hundred and sixty miles within forty-eight hours."

"Thirty-six," corrected David.

Connor swallowed.

"Thirty-six," he murmured faintly.

"I shall send for him," said the master, and struck the little gong
which stood on one side of the table. Isaac came hurrying with that
light step which made Connor forget his age.

"Bring Glani," said David.

Isaac hurried across the patio, and David continued talking to his
guest.

"Glani is not friendly; but you can see him from a distance."

"And yet," said Connor, "the other horses in the Garden seem as friendly
as pet dogs. Is Glani naturally vicious?"

"His is of other blood," replied David. "He is the blood of the great
mare Rustir, and all in her line are meant for one man only. He is more
proud than all the rest."

He l