The stranger stood close.
"You could have my hoss if you could ride him," said he.

His voice was singularly unhurried and gentle.

"But you'd drop out of the saddle in ten minutes.

Who's after you ?" A voice shouted far off beyond the wood; another voice answered, nearer, and the whole soul of Gregg turned to the stallion.

Grey Molly was blown, she stood now with hanging head and her flanks sunk in alarmingly at every breath, but even fresh from the pasture she was not a rag, not a straw compared to the black.
"For God's sake," groaned Vic, "loan me your hoss!" "You couldn't stick the saddle.