the feel of the
swooping stallion under her sailing down the wind. Courtrey or no
Courtrey, she could not fight it down. So, on a golden day when all
the boys were out with the herds and only the Indian _vaqueros_ left
in charge by Conford were at the stables, she flung the big saddle
with its silver studs and its sombre stain on El Rey, mounted and went
out and away like the wind itself. Not since the day of the raid on
Courtrey's stolen herds had she been on El Rey's back and the first
long leap and drop of the great horse beneath her set the lights to
sparkling in her eyes, the blood to burning in her golden cheeks. She
lay low on his neck and let him run, and her heart leaped up with
lightness as it ever did when she rode in these thundering bursts.

[Illustration: IN FACT COURTREY, BURNING WITH THE NEW DESIRE THAT WAS
BEGINNING TO OBSESS HIM, WAS WORKING OUT A NEW DESIGN]

There was no other horse in Lost Valley like the great king! Neither
Redbuck nor Golden nor Drumfire! Neither Sweetheart nor Westwind! No,
nor any Ironwood Bay that came down from Courtrey's Stronghold, Bolt
and Arrow not excepted.

Tharon laughed and stroked the king's neck, thewed like steel beneath
her hands. She had no fear of Courtrey and his hired killers. Sooner
or later the issue would come, of course. Then she would kill the man
as she had promised Jim Last, without a thought.

Nay, she thought of Ellen, fragile white flower, of whom she had
heard.

A softening came about her young mouth at thought of her, a shadow
flickered in her blue eyes for a moment. Then it was gone and she
laughed, a whooping gale of joy, there alone in the green stretches
between the earth and sky, with the note of El Rey's speed steadily
rising in her ears.

It beat in her very heart, that singing note. She loved the king as
she loved nothing else on earth, save only the memory of her father.

She went south toward the Black Coulee and she thanked her stars that
her riders were grazing the herds north toward the Cup Rim. Here there
was none to say her nay, to urge her with loving solicitude to go
back.

The miles sped backward and she scarce noted their travel. She drew
the king down a bit, slowed him from the swooping run, set him into
the wonderful rock-and-away of the singlefoot and retied the ribbon on
her hair. She wore no hat this day and the tawny cloud of her hair
fluffed back from her forehead, straining at its bands, its loose ends
standing