“You observe,” he said, “that I take your word at its full value,” and placing his foot in the stirrup, he dragged himself gingerly up to the saddle.  The mare stood like a rock.  Adjusting himself, he wiped a sudden perspiration from his forehead.

“I quite believe,” he remarked, “that the animal is of unusual intelligence.  All may yet be well!”

“I’m sure of it.” said the girl gravely.  “Now we’re off.”

And the horses broke into a dog trot.  Now the gait of the red roan mare was a dream of softness, and her flexible ankles gave a play of whole inches to break the jar of every step, the sure sign of the good saddle-horse; but the horse has never been saddled whose trot is really a smooth pace.  The hat of Doctor Byrne began to incline towards his right eye and his spectacles towards his left ear.  He felt a peculiar lightness in the stomach and heaviness in the heart.

“The t-t-t-trot,” he ventured to his companion, “is a d-d-d-dam—­”

“Dr. Byrne!” she cried.

“Whoa!” called Doctor Byrne, and drew mightily in upon the reins.  The red mare stopped as a ball stops when it meets a stout wall; the doctor sprawled along her neck, clinging with arms and legs.  He managed to clamber back into the saddle.

“There are vicious elements in the nature of this brute,” he observed to the girl.

“I’m very sorry,” she murmured.  He cast a sidelong glance but found not the trace of a smile.

“The word upon which I—­”

“Stopped?” she suggested.

“Stopped,” he agreed, “was not, as you evidently assumed, an oath.  On the contrary, I was merely remarking that the trot is a damaging gait, but through an interrupted—­er—­articulation—­”

His eye dared her, but she was utterly grave.  He perceived that there was, after all, a certain kinship between this woman of the mountain-desert and the man thereof.  Their silences were filled with eloquence.

“We’ll try a canter,” she suggested, “and I think you’ll find that easier.”

So she gave the word, and her bay sprang into a lope from a standing start.  The red mare did likewise, nearly flinging the doctor over the back of the saddle, but by the grace of God he clutched the pommel in time and was saved.  The air caught at his face, they swept out of the town and onto a limitless level stretch.

“Sp-p-p-peed,” gasped the doctor, “has never been a p-p-passion with me!”

He noted that she was not moving in the saddle.  The horse was like the bottom of a wave swinging violently back and forth.  She was the calm crest, swaying slightly and graciously with a motion as smooth as the flowing of water.  And she spoke as evenly as if she were sitting in a rocking chair.

“You’ll be used to it in a moment,” she assured him.