She felt
he was telling her the truth, but it seemed to be a truth he was just
finding out for himself as he talked.
"Why do you run away from a woman? How could a woman hurt you? Can she
shoot?"
He flashed her a look of amusement and pain mingled.
"She uses other weapons," he said. "Her words are darts, and her looks are
swords."
"What a queer woman! Does she ride well?"
"Yes, in an automobile!"
"What is that?" She asked the question shyly as if she feared he might
laugh again; and he looked down, and perceived that he was talking far
above her. In fact, he was talking to himself more than to the girl.
There was a bitter pleasure in speaking of his lost lady to this wild
creature who almost seemed of another kind, more like an intelligent bird
or flower.
"An automobile is a carriage that moves about without horses," he answered
her gravely. "It moves by machinery."
"I should not like it," said the girl decidedly. "Horses are better than
machines. I saw a machine once. It was to cut wheat. It made a noise, and
did not go fast. It frightened me."
"But automobiles go very fast, faster than any horses And they do not all
make a noise."
The girl looked around apprehensively.
"My horse can go very fast. You do not know how fast. If you see her
coming, I will change horses with you. You must ride to the nearest bench
and over, and then turn backward on your tracks. She will never find you
that way.
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