And he continued, "Yes, you fellers can say
what yer dern please about yer broncos, but that little horse can
corral any dern piece of horseflesh yer can show up. A lady rides him,
and I guess I'd put her up with the horse. The boys over there say
that she broke the horse herself, and I say! you fellers orter see her
make him go--and he likes it, too."
By the time the man stopped talking, my excitement was great, for I
was positive that he had been speaking of Rollo, although no mention
had been made of the horse's color or gait. So I asked what gait the
horse had. He and two or three of the other men looked at me with pity
in their eyes--actual pity--that plainly said, "Poor thing--what can
you know about gaits"; but he answered civilly, "Well, lady, he is
what we call a square pacer," and having done his duty he turned again
to his friends, as though they only could understand him, and said,
"No cow swing about that horse. He is a light sorrel and has the very
handsomest mane yer ever did see--it waves, too, and I guess the lady
curls it--but don't know for sure."
The situation was most unusual and in some ways most embarrassing,
also. Those nine men were rough and unkempt, but they were splendid
horsemen--that I knew intuitively--and to have one of their number
select my very own horse above all others to speak of with unstinted
praise, was something to be proud of, but to have my own self calmly
and complacently disposed of with the horse--"put up," in fact--was
quite another thing.
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