The run of the day before, in place of stiffening him, had put him in racing trim and he went like the wind.

He was in playful mood.

He danced and shied as each cloud-shadow struck him, a dim figure in the shade but shining red-chestnut in the sun patches.

On every hand he saw dozens of places where he would have stopped willingly had not more distant beauties lured him on.

There were hills whose tops would serve him as watch towers in time of need.