That was all, perhaps, but it was marvellous in Judge Courtenay’s eyes; while those of old Sutro shone with fond pride.
“I told thee so, señor! See—she is leading him as gentle as a lamb. Come, little señorita, let us move back a space, and leave him to be presented to one at a time. The master first, as is right it should be.”
“Well!” ejaculated that gentleman, left in the paddock, regarding with growing astonishment the small figure which approached, leading Diablo by his silken thrall, and with one arm thrown upward upon his neck. “You are the most wonderful child in the United States!”
Steenie smiled, and her eyes shone, but not from vanity at this unbounded praise. She had been hearing just such exclamations all her life from her beloved, outspoken Santa Felisans, and she knew that they came only from a mutual love. But she was proud of her new conquest; and she led Diablo close to his master, and held out the end of the cord for the Judge to take. “If you are just gentle with him, sir, he’ll behave beautifully. He’s been frightened; that’s all.”
He was frightened still, and, at the first motion of his owner’s extended hand, drew backward, nervously.
“Frightened! If ever I saw ugliness in a brute, I see it in him now. Observe his eyes.”
“Oh, don’t say that, sir, please! You don’t understand. ’Xcuse me, but I’m sure you don’t. Bob says a fine horse is all ‘nerves,’ an’ the ’most sensitive thing in creation.’ He says folks ought to treat ’em like babies; ’cause they feel things more. Softly, my pretty one! Don’t you be afraid. Steenie’ll let nobody hurt you—not a body—even him!”
“Hm-m!”
“Somebody’s whipped him sometime, or struck him cruelly.”
“Why shouldn’t they? He’s acted like a villain.”