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6 VAL OF PARADISE

Ah! Those horses! How shall one describe them?

They were red as heart's blood and every whit as vital. In every shade, from the pale flame-red of the young matched racers, Firebrand and The Flame, with their cream-white manes and tails, through the darker blood-bay tones of old Hotfoot, their mother, of Redcloud, of Dawnlight the wild young mare with her evil heart, of Lightning the beautiful, they ranged to the deep and splendid colour of Redstar, the king.

If the others were amazing in their beauty and perfection, Redstar was beyond comparison. And he was not kin to the Red Brood, since he was an alien, brought from none knew what distant land save John Hannon himself who had ridden him home one day in spring some four years back, after a long and silent absence.

But though there were many red horses on the bunch-grass levels then, though the stranger was worn and lean with long, quick travel, though dust and sweat were caked upon him and his eyes were hollow with fatigue, yet from that first moment of his appearance in the wide ranch yard, he was the king.

Ah, yes, he was the king. And he had always been; for beside his regal beauty, the heart of a king beat in his broad breast, a kingly spirit looked out of his deep, intelligent eyes, and the speed of nothing less than an equine king was in his long straight legs.