no thought of
fear for herself; her only fear was for those ahead. In supreme
moments a horse, like a man when human efforts become superhuman, puts
the lesser dangers out of reckoning, and the faculties, set on a
single purpose, though strained to the breaking-point, never break.
Low in her saddle, Dicksie tried to reckon how far they had come and
how much lay ahead. She could feel her skirt stiffening about her
knees, and the rain beating at her face was sharper; she knew the
sleet as it stung her cheeks, and knew what next was coming--the
snow.

There was no need to urge Jim. He had the rein and Dicksie bent down
to speak to him, as she often spoke when they were alone on the road,
when Jim, bolting, almost threw her. Recovering instantly, she knew
they were no longer alone. She rose alert in her seat. Her straining
eyes could see nothing. Was there a sound in the wind? She held her
breath to listen, but before she could apprehend Jim leaped violently
ahead. Dicksie screamed in an agony of terror. She knew then that she
had passed another rider, and so close she might have touched him.

Fear froze her to the saddle; it lent wings to her horse. The speed
became wild. Dicksie knit herself to her dumb companion and a prayer
choked in her throat. She crouched lest a bullet tear her from her
horse; but through the darkness no bullet came, only the sleet,
stinging her face, stiffening her gloves, freezing her hair, chilling
her limbs, and weighting her like lead on her struggling horse. She
knew not even Sinclair could overtake her now--that no living man
could lay a hand on her bridle-rein--and she pulled Jim in down the
winding hills to save him for the long flat. When they struck it they
had but four miles to go.

Across the flat the wind drove in fury. Reflection, thought, and
reason were beginning to leave her. She was crying to herself quietly
as she used to cry when she lost herself, a mere child, riding among
the hills. She was praying meaningless words. Snow purred softly on
her cheeks. The cold was soothing her senses. Unable at last to keep
her seat on the horse, she stopped him, slipped stiffly to the ground,
and, struggling through the wind as she held fast to the bridle and
the horn, half walked and half ran to start the blood through her
benumbed veins. She struggled until she could drag her mired feet no
farther, and tried to draw herself back into the saddle. It was almost
beyond her. She sobbed and sc