He bestrode his own big black horse, Prince, leading the speckled pony Grace was to ride. The pony was a nervous, excitable creature. Rhoda, seeing it for the first time, asked Nan:
"Is Grace Mason used to that creature?"
"I don't know. I never saw it before. But the pony can't be any worse than the big black horse that Walter rides."
"Why, what is the matter with him?" asked the Western girl.
"Prince is so high-spirited. You never know what he is going to do."
"I guess the black horse is spirited; but that is not a fault," Rhoda said. "He looks all right to me. But that little flea-bitten grey is a tricky one. You can tell that. See how her eyes roll."
"Do you think the pony will bite?" asked Lillie Nevins, Grace's chum, who overheard the girl from Rose Ranch.
"Goodness! I should hope so. She's got teeth," laughed Rhoda. "But I mean that probably she is skittish—will shy at the least little thing. And perhaps she will run away if she gets the chance."
"Then I shouldn't think Walter would leave them there alone beside the road," Nan said thoughtfully.
"Reckon he trusts that black horse to stand. He's looped the reins of the grey over the pommel of his own saddle. And that's not a smart trick," added Rhoda.