The men were waiting beside a group of horses, one of which carried a pack.
“Nothin' slow about you,” said Dale, relieving Helen of the grip. “Roy, put them up while I sling on this bag.”
Roy led out two of the horses.
“Get up,” he said, indicating Bo. “The stirrups are short on this saddle.”
Bo was an adept at mounting, but she made such awkward and slow work of it in this instance that Helen could not believe her eyes.
“Haw 're the stirrups?” asked Roy. “Stand in them. Guess they're about right.... Careful now! Thet hoss is skittish. Hold him in.”
Bo was not living up to the reputation with which Helen had credited her.
“Now, miss, you get up,” said Roy to Helen. And in another instant she found herself astride a black, spirited horse. Numb with cold as she was, she yet felt the coursing thrills along her veins.
Roy was at the stirrups with swift hands.
“You're taller 'n I guessed,” he said. “Stay up, but lift your foot.... Shore now, I'm glad you have them thick, soft boots. Mebbe we'll ride all over the White Mountains.”