it
was this swift ride, the horses neck and neck, and all the wildness and
beauty, that completed the slow, insidious work of years. The tears
of excitement froze on her cheeks and her heart heaved full. All that
pertained to this night got into her blood. It was only to feel, to live
now, but it could be understood and remembered forever afterward.

Dale's horse, a little in advance, sailed over a ditch. Ranger made a
splendid leap, but he alighted among some grassy tufts and fell. Helen
shot over his head. She struck lengthwise, her arms stretched, and slid
hard to a shocking impact that stunned her.

Bo's scream rang in her ears; she felt the wet grass under her face and
then the strong hands that lifted her. Dale loomed over her, bending
down to look into her face; Bo was clutching her with frantic hands. And
Helen could only gasp. Her breast seemed caved in. The need to breathe
was torture.

"Nell!--you're not hurt. You fell light, like a feather. All grass
here.... You can't be hurt!" said Dale, sharply.

His anxious voice penetrated beyond her hearing, and his strong hands
went swiftly over her arms and shoulders, feeling for broken bones.

"Just had the wind knocked out of you," went on Dale. "It feels awful,
but it's nothin'."

Helen got a little air, that was like hot pin-points in her lungs, and
then a deeper breath, and then full, gasping respiration.

"I guess--I'm not hurt--not a bit," she choked out.

"You sure had a header. Never saw a prettier spill. Ranger doesn't do
that often. I reckon we were travelin' too fast. But it was fun, don't
you think?"

It was Bo who answered. "Oh, glorious!... But, gee! I was scared."

Dale still held Helen's hands. She released them while looking up at
him. The moment was realization for her of what for days had been a
vague, sweet uncertainty, becoming near and strange, disturbing and
present. This accident had been a sudden, violent end to the wonderful
ride. But its effect, the knowledge of what had got into her blood,
would never change. And inseparable from it was this man of the forest.

CHAPTER XIV

On the next morning Helen was awakened by what she imagined had been a
dream of some one shouting. With a start she sat up. The sunshine showed
pink and gold on the ragged spruce line of the mountain rims. Bo was on
her knees, braiding her hair with shaking hands, and at the same time
trying to peep out.

And the echoes of a ringing cry were cracki