“Why, have you nice light hands? Are you gentle in handling your mount?”
“Oh,” she said, with the comprehensive indrawing of the breath which he was beginning to recognize as one of her chief characteristics. “You mean am I kind about yerkin’ ’em. Well, I’ll tell you: I never pulled any rougher on a horse’s mouth in my life than I’d like anybody to pull on mine.”
“I wish some of my friends would take that for their motto,” said Roden. “I’m thinking I’ll let you ride Bonnibel some time, if she will.” He ended with a smile.
It was not more than a week afterwards that he had occasion to require Virginia’s services. One of the other horses, a rank, irritable brute, called Usurper, had jammed Roden’s shoulder quite severely against the side of the box, and Bonnibel’s own especial groom had been sent back to New York to bring on two new-comers but just arrived from England.
“I don’t think she’ll stand a riding-skirt,” he said, rather doubtfully, as the beautiful beast was led out, reaching after the reins with her supple neck.
“I ain’t goin’ to ride her with one,” said Virginia.
He then saw that Bonnibel was saddled with a man’s saddle, and the next moment the girl was astride of the mare, the reins gathered skilfully into her long brown fingers, head erect, and hands well down—lithe, beautiful with the beauty of some sunburnt, mountain-bred boy.
As Bonnibel felt the strange touch upon her mouth she wheeled, rearing a little, and the girl’s soft hat was shaken from her head. Roden wondered if he had ever seen anything prettier than the sunlight on the young Virginian’s sun-like curls, and the glossy hide of Bonnibel.
The mare was going quieter now, mincing along and picking up her feet after a fashion much in vogue among equine coquettes. She was beginning to like the feel of the light, firm hands, and to be sensible of the masterly pressure of the strong young knees upon her mighty shoulders.
“By Jove! what a graceful seat the little witch has got!” Roden said to himself with sufficient admiration. “And hands as steady as an old stager!—Gad!” This exclamation, breaking forth at first from an impulse of terror, ended in the relieved announcement, “That was fine; as I live it was!”