Then, with a
sudden rush, her strength came again--the mist cleared; she must go to
Phil; she must go fast, fast. Oh, why was this horse so slow! If only
she were riding her own Midnight! She did not think as she rode. She did
not wonder, nor question, nor analyze her emotions. She only felt. It
was Phil who was hurt--Phil, the boy with whom she had played when she
was a little girl--the lad with whom she had gone to school--the young
man who had won the first love of her young woman heart. It was Phil,
her Phil, who was hurt, and she must go to him--she must go fast, fast!
It seemed to Kitty that hours passed before she reached the meadow lane.
She was glad that Curly had left the gates open. As she crossed the
familiar ground between the old Acton home and the ranch house on the
other side of the sandy wash, she saw them. They were carrying him into
the house as she rode into the yard, and at sight of that still form the
gray mist came again, and she caught the saddle horn to save herself
from falling. But it was only a moment until she was strong again, and
ready to do all that Mrs. Baldwin asked.
Phil had regained consciousness before they started home with him, but
he was very weak from the loss of blood and the journey in the
buckboard, though Bob drove ever so carefully, was almost more than he
could bear.
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