Molly was off like a rocket. Frances fairly stood in the stirrups to pull the pinto down–and she was not sparing of the quirt. It angered her that Molly should “show off” just now. She had heard Sue Latrop’s shrill laugh.
When she rode back Frances did not offer to shake hands with the Boston girl. And, as it chanced, she never did shake hands with her.
“You ride such perfectly ungovernable horses out here,” drawled the Boston girl. “Is it just for show?”
“Our ponies are not usually family pets,” laughed Frances. Yet she flushed, and from that moment she was always expecting Sue to say cutting things.
“They tell me it is so interesting to see the calves–er–monogrammed; do you call it?” said Sue, with a little cough.
“Branded!” exclaimed Pratt, hurriedly.
“Oh, yes! So interesting, I suppose?”
“We do not consider it a show,” said Frances, bluntly. “It is a necessary evil. I never fancied the smell of scorched hair and hide myself; and the poor creatures bawl so. But branding and slitting their ears are the only ways we have of marking the cattle.”
“Re’lly?” repeated Sue, staring at her as though Frances were more curious than the bawling cattle.
The irons were already in the fire when the party rode down to the scene of the branding. Silent Sam was in charge of the gang. They had rounded up nearly two hundred calves and yearlings. Some of the cows had followed their off-spring out of the herd, and were lowing at the corral fence.