Nor was Dave Law a person of the comic type; yet he was a gloom-
dispeller, and now that Alaire was beginning to know him better
she felt a certain happy restfulness in his company.
The ride was long, and the two proceeded leisurely, stopping now
and then to talk or to admire the banks of wild flowers beside the
road. No country is richer in spring blooms than is South Texas.
The cactus had nearly done blooming now, and its ever-listening
ears were absurdly warted with fruit; gorgeous carpets of
bluebonnets were spread beside the ditches, while the air above
was filled with thousands of yellow butterflies, like whirling,
wind-blown petals of the prickly-pear blossom. Montrose and
Montrosa enjoyed the journey also; it was just the mode of
traveling to please equine hearts, for there were plenty of
opportunities to nibble at the juicy grass and to drink at the
little pools. Then, too, there were mad, romping races during
which the riders laughed and shouted.
It was Law who finally discovered that they had somehow taken the
wrong road. The fact that Alaire had failed to notice this gave
him a sudden thrill. It aroused in his mind such a train of dizzy,
drunken speculations that for some time following the discovery he
jogged silently at his companion's side.
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