Young Travers, who had been engaged to a girl down on Long Island for the last three months, only met her father and brother a few weeks before the day set for the wedding.  The brother is a master of hounds near Southampton, and shared the expense of importing a pack from England with Van Bibber.  The father and son talked horse all day and until one in the morning; for they owned fast thoroughbreds, and entered them at the Sheepshead Bay and other race-tracks.  Old Mr. Paddock, the father of the girl to whom Travers was engaged, had often said that when a young man asked him for his daughter’s hand he would ask him in return, not if he had lived straight, but if he could ride straight.  And on his answering this question in the affirmative depended his gaining her parent’s consent.  Travers had met Miss Paddock and her mother in Europe, while the men of the family were at home.  He was invited to their place in the fall when the hunting season opened, and spent the evening most pleasantly and satisfactorily with his fiancee in a corner of the drawing-room.  But as soon as the women had gone, young Paddock joined him and said, “You ride, of course?” Travers had never ridden; but he had been prompted how to answer by Miss Paddock, and so said there was nothing he liked better.  As he expressed it, he would rather ride than sleep.

“That’s good,” said Paddock.  “I’ll give you a mount on Satan to-morrow morning at the meet.  He is a bit nasty at the start of the season; and ever since he killed Wallis, the second groom, last year, none of us care much to ride him.  But you can manage him, no doubt.  He’ll just carry your weight.”

Mr. Travers dreamed that night of taking large, desperate leaps into space on a wild horse that snorted forth flames, and that rose at solid stone walls as though they were hayricks.

He was tempted to say he was ill in the morning ­which was, considering his state of mind, more or less true ­but concluded that, as he would have to ride sooner or later during his visit, and that if he did break his neck it would be in a good cause, he determined to do his best.  He did not want to ride at all, for two excellent reasons ­first, because he wanted to live for Miss Paddock’s sake, and, second, because he wanted to live for his own.

The next morning was a most forbidding and doleful-looking morning, and young Travers had great hopes that the meet would be declared off; but, just as he lay in doubt, the servant knocked at his door with his riding things and his hot water.

He came down-stairs looking very miserable indeed.  Satan had been taken to the place where they were to meet, and Travers viewed him on his arrival there with a sickening sense of fear as he saw him pulling three grooms off their feet.

Travers decided that he would stay with his feet on solid earth just as long as he could, and when the hounds were thrown off and the rest had started at a gallop he waited, under the pretence of adjusting his gaiters, until they were all well away.  Then he clenched his teeth, crammed his hat down over his ears, and scrambled up on to the saddle.  His feet fell quite by accident into the stirrups, and the next instant he was off after the others, with an indistinct feeling that he was on a locomotive that was jumping the ties.  Satan was in among and had passed the other horses in less than five minutes, and was so close on the hounds that the whippers-in gave a cry of warning.  But Travers could as soon have pulled a boat back from going over the Niagara Falls as Satan, and it was only because the hounds were well ahead that saved them from having Satan ride them down.  Travers had taken hold of the saddle with his left hand to keep himself down, and sawed and swayed on the reins with his right.  He shut his eyes whenever Satan jumped, and never knew how he happened to stick on; but he did stick on, and was so far ahead that no one could see in the misty morning just how badly he rode.  As it was, for daring and speed he led the field, and not even young Paddock was near him from the start.  There was a broad stream in front of him, and a hill just on its other side.  No one had ever tried to take this at a jump.  It was considered more of a swim than anything else, and the hunters always crossed it by the bridge, towards the left.  Travers saw the bridge and tried to jerk Satan’s head in that direction; but Satan kept right on as straight as an express train over the prairie.  Fences and trees and furrows passed by and under Travers like a panorama run by electricity, and he only breathed by accident.  They went on at the stream and the hill beyond as though they were riding at a stretch of turf, and, though the whole field set up a shout of warning and dismay, Travers could only gasp and shut his eyes.  He remembered the fate of the second groom and shivered.  Then the horse rose like a rocket, lifting Travers so high in the air that he thought Satan would never come down again; but he did come down, with his feet bunched, on the opposite side of the stream.  The next instant he was up and over the hill, and had stopped panting in the very centre of the pack that were snarling and snapping around the fox.  And then Travers showed that he was a thoroughbred, even though he could not ride, for he hastily fumbled for his cigar-case, and when the field came pounding up over the bridge and around the hill, they saw him seated nonchalantly on his saddle, puffing critically at a cigar and giving Satan patronizing pats on the head.

“My dear girl,” said old Mr. Paddock to his daughter as they rode back, “if you love that young man of yours and want to keep him, make him promise to give up riding.  A more reckless and more brilliant horseman I have never seen.  He took that double jump at the gate and that stream like a centaur.  But he will break his neck sooner or later, and he ought to be stopped.”  Young Paddock was so delighted with his prospective brother-in-law’s great riding that that night in the smoking-room he made him a present of Satan before all the men.

“No,” said Travers, gloomily, “I can’t take him.  Your sister has asked me to give up what is dearer to me than anything next to herself, and that is my riding.  You see, she is absurdly anxious for my safety, and she has asked me to promise never to ride again, and I have given my word.”

A chorus of sympathetic remonstrance rose from the men.

“Yes, I know,” said Travers to her brother, “it is rough, but it just shows what sacrifices a man will make for the woman he loves.”