American fiction -- 20th century; Arizona -- Fiction; Western stories
He guided them on horseback up one of the thick, verdant-wooded slopes,
calling their attention at various times to the different growths, until
they emerged on the summit of the ridge where the timber grew scant
and dwarfed. At the edge of timber-line he showed a gnarled and knotted
spruce-tree, twisted out of all semblance to a beautiful spruce, bent
and storm-blasted, with almost bare branches, all reaching one' way. The
tree was a specter. It stood alone. It had little green upon it. There
seemed something tragic about its contortions. But it was alive and
strong. It had no rivals to take sun or moisture. Its enemies were the
snow and wind and cold of the heights.
Helen felt, as the realization came to her, the knowledge Dale wished
to impart, that it was as sad as wonderful, and as mysterious as it was
inspiring. At that moment there were both the sting and sweetness of
life--the pain and the joy--in Helen's heart. These strange facts
were going to teach her--to transform her. And even if they hurt, she
welcomed them.
CHAPTER XI
“I'll ride you if it breaks--my neck!” panted Bo, passionately, shaking
her gloved fist at the gray pony.
Dale stood near with a broad smile on his face. Helen was within
earshot, watching from the edge of the park, and she felt so fascinated
and frightened that she could not call out for Bo to stop. The little
gray mustang was a beauty, clean-limbed and racy, with long black mane
and tail, and a fine, spirited head. There was a blanket strapped on his
back, but no saddle. Bo held the short halter that had been fastened
in a hackamore knot round his nose. She wore no coat; her blouse was
covered with grass and seeds, and it was open at the neck; her hair hung
loose and disheveled; one side of her face bore a stain of grass and
dirt and a suspicion of blood; the other was red and white; her eyes
blazed; beads of sweat stood out on her brow and wet places shone on her
cheeks. As she began to strain on the halter, pulling herself closer
to the fiery pony, the outline of her slender shape stood out lithe and
strong.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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