She led the way back towards the hills at a steady canter.
"Say, you've got nerve," cried Slosson, in genuine admiration. "Never been saddled?"
"Or man-handled," returned Hazel, determined he should lose nothing of her contemplated adventure. "He was rounded up this morning at my orders out of a bunch of three-year-old prairie-bred colts. You'll surely see some real bucking—not cat-jumping," she added mischievously.
"Say, you can't forget that play," cried the man, with some pride. "I'd have got on that hoss if he'd bucked to kingdom-come. I don't take any bluff from a girl."
"I s'pose girls aren't of much account with you? They're just silly things with no sense or—or anything. Some men are like that."
A warm glow swept through the man's veins.
"I allow it just depends on the girl."
"Maybe you don't reckon I've got sense?"
Slosson gazed at her with a meaning smile.
"I've seen signs," he observed playfully.