"How is that?" Carolyn June questioned.
"Well, for one thing," Skinny replied, "he says any man or woman a horse don't trust ain't a good man or woman for a human to depend on—says they ain't right inside! It looks to me like that's a pretty hard slam on people just because some darned idiot of a broncho won't make up with them!"
Carolyn June leaned back in the saddle and laughed.
"Some 'range philosopher'—this Ramblin' Kid person!" she exclaimed lightly. "Where did he come from and who is he, anyway?"
"Nobody knows," Skinny answered; "he just kind of growed up, here in the Southwest. I've heard that his mother died when he was born and his father was a preacher or something doing missionary work—I reckon that's what you'd call it—among the Mexicans and Indians and got the smallpox while he was nursing them through an epidemic and it killed him, which left th' Ramblin' Kid an orphan when he wasn't much more than a baby. The Mexicans or Indians took care of him till he was old enough to ride and then he began to ramble around and has always kept it up just as if he was hunting for something—"
"How interesting!" Carolyn June exclaimed, "almost like a story!"
"It is kind of unusual," Skinny continued, "of course it may not all be true, but one thing is sure—th' Ramblin' Kid seems to have some sort of fascination for the Greasers and the Indians; they all worship him, and he's a witch when it comes to handling horses!"
"He seems to be," Carolyn June commented thoughtfully.
"Yes," Skinny answered, "look how that Gold Dust maverick has made right up with him—I don't believe she ever will have anything to do with anybody else!"
Carolyn June laughed softly to herself. She did not tell Skinny of her visits to the circular corral and that the outlaw mare already had accepted her as a good friend.