went like a wild thing over the broken going. The loose stones and the gravel, which had turned the chestnut gelding into a clumsy blunderer, were nothing to her. She seemed to have a separate brain in each foot, telling her how to handle her ground. And always there was that catlike agility with which she wound among the rocks, hardly impairing her speed as she swerved. Andrew found her a book whose pages he could turn forever and always find something new.
He forgot where he was going. He only knew that the wind was clipping his face and that Sally was eating up the ground, and he came to himself with a start, after a moment, realizing that his dream had carried him perilously out of the mouth of the ravine. He had even allowed the mare to reach a bit of winding road, rough indeed, but cut by many wheels and making a white streak across the country. Andrew drew in his breath anxiously and turned her back for the cañon.
