But he did not have to wait long. Dad Patten was an early riser and at the first sound the professor was ready to go out in the yard. Here he found Indian Joe already busy, going doggedly about his work, never in a hurry, never flustered but accomplishing a surprising lot of jobs during his long day.
He had brought in Kit's horse, a beautiful, dark, slender animal that pawed the ground and whinneyed impatiently.
Kit slipped from the house with a cry of joy. "Oh, Powder, you dear, dear old thing! I love you! And you'll never know how much I missed you!"
There was a sparkle in Joe's eye as he hastily put on the saddle while Kit ran into the house for her riding knickers. The professor watched admiringly as she swung into the saddle. Then he stood paralyzed with fear as the horse stood straight up on his hind legs, then with a sudden spring he reversed his position with his hind legs in the air.
Kit had half expected this performance and had put on spurs which she dug into his sides. Not for a second did she leave the saddle. She finally turned the horse's head toward the road and with a prod of the spurs sent the animal down it at a speed that made the professor gasp in fright. Every moment he expected to see the girl thrown against the jagged rocks at the side of the narrow thoroughfare. But Kit held the reins. Soon she was out of sight and the old man went in search of Dad Patten.
"Kit's horse is running away with her," he exclaimed, his hand trembling.
But Dad Patten and Indian Joe merely smiled. "It had to come," said the girl's father. "Whenever Kit leaves that horse, even for a week, she has to go through this. Powder wants to be boss and tries to win, but Kit is always master."
"She knows what she's doing," Ma Patten reassured the old man when he excitedly pointed out Kit far over the mesa, struggling with her pony who was once more bucking. "Kit has been riding a horse ever since she was a baby."
Kit returned half an hour later, her cheeks glowing, her eyes dancing with excitement. And when the professor voiced his fears to her, she replied: "You know I don't believe that horse would throw me. I think he goes just as far as he knows I can handle him. He's brainy, that pony! No one knows how I've missed him."
The professor looked at her with the same admiring glance as Jim Hawkins, the riding master on Campers' Trail, had done. His eyes were not seeing the fancy riding in quite such a professional manner as Jim, but nevertheless he gloried in the poise and daring of this slight bit of a girl. Things were very different when he was a boy. Then girls clung like plants and were sheltered.