Now she picked her course dexterously down the hillside with the
cream-colored mare of Pierre following half a length behind.
After the first down-pitch of ground was covered they passed into
difficult terrain, and for half an hour went at a jog trot, winging in
and out among the rocks, climbing steadily up and up through
the hills.
Here the ground opened up again, and they roved on at a free gallop,
the black always half a length in front. Along the ridge of a crest,
an almost level stretch of a mile or more, Jack eased the grip on the
reins, and the black responded with a sudden lengthening of stride and
lowered his head with ears pressed back flat while he fairly flew over
the ground.
Nothing could match that speed. The strong mare fell to the rear,
fighting gamely, but beaten by that effort of the stallion.
Jack swerved in the saddle and looked back, laughing her triumph.
Pierre smiled grimly in response and leaned forward, shifting his
weight more over the withers of Mary. He spoke to her, and one of her
pricking ears fell back as if to listen to his voice.
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