As she rode up one side of the divide, a hat appeared over the bend of the other side. She could not mistake the high peak of that comic opera sombrero. Ashton was almost back to the ranch. Her first thought was that he had gone part way, and given up the trip. The big sombrero bobbed up and down in an odd manner. She guessed the cause even before Ashton’s head and body appeared, rising and falling rhythmically. She stared as Rocket swept up into view, covering the ground with a long-strided trot.
Ashton waved to her. She waved back. A few moments later they were close together. As she spun her pony around, he pulled in his horse to a walk, patting the beast’s neck and speaking to him caressingly.
“Back already?” she asked. “Surely, you’ve 94 not been to Stockchute––Yes, you have!” Her experienced eye was taking in every indication of his horse’s condition. “He’s been traveling; but you’ve handled him well.”
“He’s grand!” said Ashton. “Been putting him through his paces. I suppose he is your father’s best mount.”
“Daddy and Kid ride him when they’re in a hurry or there’s no other horse handy.”
“You can’t mean––? Then perhaps I can have him again occasionally.”
“You like him, really?”
“All he needs is a little management,” replied Ashton, again patting the horse’s lean neck.
“If you wish to take him in hand, I’ll assign him to you. No one else wants him.”
“As your rural deliveryman’s mount––” began Ashton. He stopped to show the bulging bag slung under his arm. “Here’s the mail. Do you wish your letters now?”