nd wavy. He
scented the mares and stopped short, head flung up and armfuls of creamy
mane tossing in the breeze. He bent his head until flaring nostrils
brushed impatient knees, and between the fine-pointed ears could be
seen a mighty and incredible curve of neck. Again he tossed his head,
fretting against the bit as the driver turned widely aside for safety
in passing. They could see the blue glaze like a sheen on the surface
of the horse's bright, wild eyes, and Billy closed a wary thumb on his
reins and himself turned widely. He held up his hand in signal, and the
driver of the stallion stopped when well past, and over his shoulder
talked draught-horses with Billy.

Among other things, Billy learned that the stallion's name was
Barbarossa, that the driver was the owner, and that Santa Rosa was his
headquarters.

"There are two ways to Sonoma Valley from here," the man directed. "When
you come to the crossroads the turn to the left will take you to Glen
Ellen by Bennett Peak--that's it there."

Rising from rolling stubble fields, Bennett Peak towered hot in the sun,
a row of bastion hills leaning against its base. But hills and mountains
on that side showed bare and heated, though beautiful with the sunburnt
tawniness of California.

"The turn to the right will take you to Glen Ellen, too, only it's
longer and steeper grades. But your mares don't look as though it'd
bother them."

"Which is the prettiest way?" Saxon asked.

"Oh, the right hand road, by all means," said the man. "That's Sonoma
Mountain there, and the road skirts it pretty well up, and goes through
Cooper's Grove."

Billy did not start immediately after they had said good-by, and he
and Saxon, heads over shoulders, watched the roused Barbarossa plunging
mutinously on toward Santa Rosa.

"Gee!" Billy said. "I'd like to be up here next spring."

At the crossroads Billy hesitated and looked at Saxon.

"What if it is longer?" she said. "Look how beautiful it is--all covered
with green woods; and I just know those are redwoods in the canyons.
You never can tell. The valley of the moon might be right up there
somewhere. And it would never do to miss it just in order to save half
an hour."

They took the turn to the right and began crossing a series of steep
foothills. As they approached the mountain there were signs of a greater
abundance of water. They drove beside a running stream, and, though the
vineyards on the hills were summer-dry, the f