because she always seemed to be
in the grasp of something against which no pressure could avail. She
was being commanded now, but there was that in the voice which, while
commanding her, made her long to do as she was bid. It was an obedience
filled with passion, resigning itself to the will of a force which was
all gentleness, but oh, so compelling!

She buried her face in her hands, and presently Orlando had opened a
vein in the chestnut's neck, and its life-blood slowly ebbed away.

As he turned towards her again, Orlando was startled by a sudden action
on the part of his broncho. Whether it was the smell of blood which
frightened it, or death itself, which has its own terrors to animal
life, or whether it was as though a naked, shivering animal soul passed
by, the broncho started, shied and presently broke into a trot; then,
before Orlando could reach it, into a gallop, and was away down the
prairie in the direction of Slow Down Ranch.

"That's queer," he said, and he gave a nervous little laugh. "It's
the worst of luck, and--and we're twelve miles from Tralee," he added
slowly.

"It's terrible!" Louise said, her fingers twisting together in an effort
at self-control. "Don't you see how terrible it is?" she asked, looking
into Orlando's troubled face but cheerful eyes.

"You couldn't walk that distance, of course," he remarked.

She endeavoured to get to her feet, but seemed to give way. He reached
out his hands. She took them, and he helped her up. His face was
anxious. "Are you sure you're not hurt?" he asked. "There's nothing
broken," she answered. "No bones, anyway. But I don't feel--" She
swayed. He put an arm around her.

"I don't feel as if I could walk even a mile," she continued. "It's
shaken me so."

"Or else you're hurt badly inside," he said apprehensively.

"No, no, I'm sure not," she answered. "It's only the shock."

"Can you walk a little?" he asked. "This poor horse--let's get away from
it. There's a good place over there--see!" He pointed to a little rise
in the ground where were a few stunted trees and some long grass and
shrubs. "Can you walk?"

"Oh, yes, I'm all right," she answered nervously. "I don't need your
arm. I can walk by myself."

"I think not--well, not yet, anyhow," he answered soothingly. "Please do
as you're told. I'm keeping my arm around you for the present."

Always in the past she had obeyed, when commanded by her mother or
husband, with an apathy which had smoth