Mark hesitated. “My horse has never been ridden by a woman, or in fact only once or twice by anybody, and is but illy broken. I took him from a herd of wild bronchos from the plains. They were brought here a few days ago. I fear he isn’t altogether safe; besides, the saddle—” “Lissa is an expert horsewoman,” said Nathan, interrupting him. “If he is not really vicious, I think she can manage him. As to the saddle, she is used to that kind. Turn the off stirrup to this side, and it will be all right.” All being soon arranged for her, Lissa stepped from the wagon to the horse’s back, and experienced a delightful sensation of rest and exhilaration at the idea of a canter in the dewy, evening air over this wild, strange country. She started on ahead. Her horse sprang into a lope, increased his speed to a run, and she was soon skimming over the road at a pace unparalleled in her experience. She became alarmed and sought to check him, but was unable to do so. The spirited, half-wild thing had taken the bit in his teeth, and heeded not her utmost strength upon the bridle rein. She heard the wagon coming behind her, and knew they were running their horses at their highest speed to try to keep her in sight, but the mustangs, jaded as they were, were no match for the swift-winged Pegasus beneath her. On, and on, and on he sped, faster, faster, and faster, until the gentle breeze became a strong wind, taking her breath. How long would she be able to hold out, she wondered. At the rate they were going it would not be long before they would reach home. Home—what a meaning that word had for her. But suppose the pony took a wrong road; this road was marked only by the borders of high grass on both sides. There might be branches leading no one knew where. She had passed beyond the sound of the wagon now. On, on, on the swift creature flew, no pause, no break in his mad flight. They must have covered five miles at least, she determined. Her breath was coming in frightened gasps, and her hands were trembling. She felt that she could not keep her seat much longer. Suddenly the horse stumbled slightly and slackened his gait. Lissa nearly fell, but by a desperate effort recovered herself. She was holding tightly to the saddle horn. Again the horse stumbled—there must be holes in the ground. Slump, slump, slump. What was the matter? The broncho was going much slower now, and Lissa spoke soothingly to him, and drew up on the rein. He submitted to her, and subsided into an easy canter. At last, as the soil seemed to frequently give way under his feet, he came down to a walk and permitted her to keep him slowly at that gait, until she heard the welcome sound of the wagon behind her, when she halted and waited until they came up. “What a fright you have given us!” cried Nathan, a quiver of relief in his voice. “We feared you had been carried off bodily to the plains or thrown down by the way-side. Why did you ride so fast?”