The
Darrells' station was some thirty-five miles away by the usual roads;
but a short cut over the ranges reduced the journey by fifteen miles,
although it was a rough trip, and an impossible one for vehicles.
Mounted on Monarch, however, Mr. Linton thought nothing of it; and
Norah laughed at his self-accusation of old age as she rode beside him,
the lean, erect figure in the saddle giving easily to the black horse's
irresponsible bounds--for Monarch had been "spelled" for the trip, and
was full of spirits and suppressed energy.
"Take care of him, Daddy, won't you?" she said, a little anxiously, as
Monarch executed a more than ordinarily uproarious caper. "He's awfully
fresh."
"He'll steady down presently," said her father, smiling at the upturned
face. "There's some steep country ahead of him."
"Yes, but he's such a mad-headed animal--and those paths on the sides of
the gullies are very steep."
"You sound like the nervous young woman in 'Excelsior,'" David Linton
said, with a laugh. "Cheer up, my girl--there's no need to worry about
Monarch and me. He's only playful; hasn't an atom of vice, and I know
him very well by now. I never put my leg over a better horse."
"Oh, of course," said Norah, cheered, but not altogether convinced.
"Every one knows he's a beauty--but just look out that he doesn't try to
be too playful on the sidings, Daddy.
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