"Ah, gentle as a dove with friends; but she's not gentle if she happens
to dislike a man or woman! Why, if she hates you, keep away from her.
She'll side-step with a cunning that would fool the wisest so's to get a
chance for a left-handed kick; she'll bite; she'll strike with her
forefeet the way a human fighter would."

"Oh!" said the girl. "Ain't it a pity she's so ugly?"

"I said she's gentle with her friends. She'd no more kick at me than I
would kick at her. She knows it. She's intelligent beyond most
horseflesh."

"Has she ever won in races?"

"She's won in small events, and great things are expected of her by more
folk than I when she gets going on the larger tracks. I'm counting on
her for good work this year, after I go home again."

"Ah," sighed the girl, carried quite away by his excited talk about his
favorite, "how I'd love to see her run!"

"It's poetry," he granted; "the true poetry of motion."

"And this Cunnel--Cunnel--"

"Colonel Doolittle?"

"Uh-huh. Will he help me, do you s'pose, to get my Little Hawss cured of
his lameness?"