A peculiar ache and sense of emptiness entered her heart, and
the ghost of Terry Hollis galloped soundlessly beside her on flaming El
Sangre through the shadow. It seemed to her that she could understand him
more easily. His had been a sheltered and pleasant life here, half
dreamy; and when he wakened into a world of stern reality and stern men,
he was still playing at a game like a boy--as Denver Pete had said.
She came out into view of the house. And again she paused. It was like a
palace to Kate, that great white facade and the Doric columns of the
veranda. She had always thought that the house of her father was a big
and stable house; compared with this, it was a shack, a lean-to, a
veritable hovel. And the confidence which had been hers during the hard
ride of two days across the mountains grew weaker. How could she talk to
the woman who owned such an establishment as this? How could she even
gain access to her?
On a broad, level terrace below the house men were busy with plows and
scrapers smoothing the ground; she circled around them, and brought her
horse to a stop before the veranda.
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