his eyes.

All things tended to key them to an exquisite pitch--the movement of
their bodies, at one with the moving bodies of the animals beneath them;
the gently stimulated blood caressing the flesh through and through with
the soft vigors of health; the warm air fanning their faces, flowing
over the skin with balmy and tonic touch, permeating them and bathing
them, subtly, with faint, sensuous delight; and the beauty of the world,
more subtly still, flowing upon them and bathing them in the delight
that is of the spirit and is personal and holy, that is inexpressible
yet communicable by the flash of an eye and the dissolving of the veils
of the soul.

So looked they at each other, the horses bounding beneath them, the
spring of the world and the spring of their youth astir in their blood,
the secret of being trembling in their eyes to the brink of disclosure,
as if about to dispel, with one magic word, all the irks and riddles of
existence.

The road curved before them, so that the upper reaches of the canyon
could be seen, the distant bed of it towering high above their heads.
They were rounding the curve, leaning toward the inside, gazing before
them at the swift-growing picture. There was no sound of warning. She
heard nothing, but even before the horse went down she experienced
the feeling that the unison of the two leaping animals was broken. She
turned her head, and so quickly that she saw Comanche fall. It was not a
stumble nor a trip. He fell as though, abruptly, in midleap, he had died
or been struck a stunning blow.

And in that moment she remembered Planchette; it seared her brain as
a lightning-flash of all-embracing memory. Her horse was back on its
haunches, the weight of her body on the reins; but her head was turned
and her eyes were on the falling Comanche. He struck the road-bed
squarely, with his legs loose and lifeless beneath him.

It all occurred in one of those age-long seconds that embrace an
eternity of happening. There was a slight but perceptible rebound from
the impact of Comanche's body with the earth. The violence with which
he struck forced the air from his great lungs in an audible groan. His
momentum swept him onward and over the edge. The weight of the rider on
his neck turned him over head first as he pitched to the fall.

She was off her horse, she knew not how, and to the edge. Her lover was
out of the saddle and clear of Comanche, though held to the animal by
his right foo