"Just defending yourself, eh, Yuma girl?" he said. "They cut all the sense out of you with a horse-killin' bit and rip you with the spurs, and expect you to behave."
"He'll be teachin' her to say her prayers next," observed Bud Light. "He's gettin' a spell on her now."
"He'll need all his for himself," said Pars Long.
The pony, still nervously resenting the memory of the mouth-crushing spade-bit, and the tearing rowels, flinched and sidled away as Collie tried to mount. Her glossy ears were flattened and the rims of her eyes showed white.
"Jump!" whispered Williams. "And don't rough her. Mebby you'll win out."
And even as Collie's hand touched the saddle-horn, Williams sprang back and climbed the corral bars.
With a leap the Moonstone rider was in the saddle. The pony shook her head as he reined her round toward the corral gate. The men stared. Gleason swore. Billy Dime began to croon a range ditty about "Picking little Posies on the Golden Shore." The roan's sleek, sweating sides quivered.
"Here's where she goes to it," said Williams.
"Whoop! Let 'er buck!" shouted the crowd.
Rebellion swelled in the pony's rippling muscles. She waited, fore feet braced, for the first sting of the quirt, the first rip of the spurs, to turn herself into a hellish thing of plunging destruction.