“He’s a vicious little scoundrel,” said the young man.
“He ought to have a course of sprouts under one of our wranglers,” remarked the girl from Sunset Ranch. “Now let’s go along.”
Despite the buckskin’s dancing and cavorting, she mounted, stuck the spurs into him a couple of times, and the ill-mannered pony decided that walking properly was better than bucking.
“You’re a wonder!” exclaimed Dud Stone, admiringly.
“You haven’t been West long,” she replied, with a smile. “Women folk out here aren’t much afraid of horses.”
“I should say they were not—if you are a specimen.”
“I’m just ordinary. I spent four school terms in Denver, and I never rode there, so I kind of lost the hang of it.”
Dud Stone was becoming anxious over another matter.
“Are you sure you can find the trail when it’s so dark?” he asked.
“We’re on it now,” she said.