pursued them farther most probably I
should not be writing this now. As it was, it was a marvel I had not
broken my neck. Only my splendid horse had saved me.

So I rode back to the oak-trees, and there--there was not a sign of
life. All was as silent and still as if nothing had ever disturbed
Nature's quiet. I remember how beautiful was the night. A half-moon
shone out in a clear sky, like a semicircle of pure, bright silver, the
tops of the mountains were silhouetted against the sky as if they were
cut out of cardboard, and all was so calm just then. You don't get such
lovely nights elsewhere. The moon has not the sterling brightness; the
air not the clearness nor the stillness that it has there.

Where were my companions? I did not know. My panting horse was glad to
get breathing-space, so I sat there in the saddle, waiting. I pulled my
coat around my shoulders, for the air was chilly. It was then about 2
A.M.

A sharp sound disturbed my reverie--the sound of a horse's hoofs
galloping over the rocky river-bed. The rattle was so clear, so
distinct, in that atmosphere and at that hour, that I could hear it long
before my eyes could detect anything, even in that bright moonlight.
Then, in a few moments, there approached a horse at full gallop, with
his head low down and neck extended--at first apparently riderless, but
as he came nearer I was startled to discover a black shape, hanging over
the off-side, and, as the frightened steed tore past me, I saw it was a
woman.

It was Edna. Who else could it be? Her left foot, still in the stirrup,
had come right over the saddle with her as she fell, and she was
clinging desperately with her hands to the horse's long mane, but so low
down that, at the pace, it seemed to be impossible for her to recover.

Without a moment's thought of how I should save her, I galloped after
her maddened steed as hard as I could go. I was on an English saddle and
without a lasso--since to me such a thing would have been of little use
on such a risky expedition as we had undertaken; but I urged my horse
onwards and galloped him at his utmost in an endeavour to head the
other, when perhaps I might be able to clutch a rein and stop the
runaway. But Edna's horse was the fleetest of any on the ranche;
moreover, her light weight was a comparative advantage, and so I gained
not a whit on the horse with his imperilled burden. It was terrible. How
long could the poor girl hang on like that? Not much l