“M’Gill! you get off that horse! At once, I tell you!”
“The Missus is sure some peeved,” muttered Bender to one of his mates.
“And why shouldn’t she be? We’d never ought to let Ratty try to ride that critter.”
“Molly!” shouted Frances, climbing the fence herself as quickly as any boy.
She dropped over into the corral where the other ponies were running about in great excitement.
“Molly, come here!” She whistled for the pinto and Molly’s head came up and her eyes rolled in the direction of her mistress. She knew she was being abused; and she remembered that Frances was always kind to her.
Whether Ratty agreed or not, the pinto galloped across the corral.
“Get down off that pony, you brute!” exclaimed Frances, her eyes flashing at the half-serious, half-grinning cowboy.
“She’s some little pinto when she gits in a tantrum,” remarked the unabashed Ratty.
Frances had brought her bridle. Although Molly stood shaking and quivering, the girl slipped the bit between her jaws and buckled the straps in a moment. She held the pony, but did not attempt to lead her toward the saddling shed.