Explore "The Riddle of Three-Way Creek" by Ridgwell Cullum on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Molly Marton sat leaning over the horn of her saddle. One elbow was propped upon it, while her brown hand supported her chin. The other hand was reaching down holding her mare's reins, while the thirsty creature buried its muzzle in the speeding waters of the creek.
The afternoon was well advanced, and the sun was already approaching the crystal peaks of the more distant hills. Molly calculated there was a good three hours to complete darkness yet, and she could reasonably expect to reach home in less time than that. So far her search had been fruitless. She had discovered no sign of her missing cows. But she was quite undisturbed, and not a whit nearer agreement with Lightning as to the meaning of her loss.