SON OF THE WIND
Carron looked at her. The horses were moving slowly side by side, and the flicker above their heads had become a warm and constant shadow of branches which let through the influence of the sun without its positive light. It was thus her face should be seen, he thought, under translucent shades of leaves, where her skin looked paler and more perfect, and her eyes darker. "Of course, you are not reasonable," he affirmed. "I hope you are not even sensible. I've enough sense and reason myself to keep me bored for the rest of my life."
This thrust at her weaknesses, far from antagonizing her, seemed to please her to the edge of laughter. "What do you expect me to supply?" she asked, "the madness?"
"Yes, and the zest. Which way are you going to take me to-day?"
"Which way do you want to go?"
There was no hesitation in Carron's mind. He felt himself invited to his fate. "How about getting into the mountains?"
"Half a day," she mused. "It isn't enough time for them, but we can go toward them. We can get into the hills."
The horses quickened pace as the road drew downward, carrying them into the chilly shadow, with no sun behind it, that still covered the gulch. The smell
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