qualifying as an expert, especially in quick shooting at moving
targets. Thus fitted for the strenuous life in the wilder parts of
her native land, Grace looked forward with calm assurance to the
experiences that she knew lay before her.

"Bring out the black," Hi Lang had directed. "Cinch him so tight
it will make him squeal."

When a wrangler's rope caught him, the wiry little animal fought
viciously for a few moments, then suddenly surrendered and was led
out as docile as a lamb.

"Who said that black is vicious?" demanded Hippy Wingate.

"Want to ride him?" asked the guide good-naturedly.

"No. I have a real pony for myself."

"Watch those ears, Grace," warned Tom Gray.

"I am," replied Grace, and Hi Lang, overhearing, grunted his
satisfaction.

The black pony's ears were tilted back at an angle of forty-five
degrees, and there he held them while the saddle was being set in
place, and the girth cinched, both forefeet spread wide apart and
head well down. He winced a little as the girth was drawn a hole
tighter so that the saddle might not slip, but otherwise made no
move, which, the cowboys said, was an unusual thing for him to do.