Grace Harlowes Overland Riders on the Great American Desert | Page 5

ride the animal, but I do
so want him."
Tom Gray shrugged his shoulders and laughed.
"Go to it, little woman. You have my full permission to break your
neck if you insist. I will see that little Yvonne keeps your memory
green."
"Oh, Tom! You are such a dear, but I promise you that you won't have
occasion to keep my memory green so far as that mischievous little
black pony is concerned."
Grace Harlowe's confidence in herself was not without good and
sufficient reason. The western pony that she had ridden the previous
winter had demonstrated nearly all the tricks known to the stubborn
broncos of the great west. At first Grace had had some bad spills, but
eventually she learned to outwit her pony and ride him no matter how
savagely he tried to unhorse her.
Not only had Grace learned to ride, in anticipation of another summer
in the saddle, but, under her husband's instruction, she had taken up
revolver shooting, and by spring was capable of 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.
The pony's sudden surrender was of itself suspicious to those who were
familiar with the western bronco, and the laid-back ears were
significant to them of trouble to come.
"Is he an outlaw!" asked Grace, meaning an animal naturally so vicious
that he never had been satisfactorily broken.
Hi Lang, to whom the question had been addressed, gave Grace a quick
glance of inquiry.

"Some call him that. At least he's got the ginger in him, and mebby he
is an outlaw. Keep a tight rein on him; don't let him get his head down
if you can help his doing so, and stick to your leather. Watch him every
second, for he's got a box full of tricks."
"Thank you for the suggestions. I shall not forget."
"I ought not let you ride him. I reckon you'll get enough of the critter
before you have ridden him many minutes, even if you stick on that
long."
"Mr. Lang, I intend to ride that 'critter,' as you call him, across the
desert. Will he bolt while I am mounting?"
"Mebby. All ready now."
"Have you any last requests to make, Grace Harlowe?" asked Elfreda
Briggs frowningly. Elfreda strongly disapproved of Grace's
"foolhardiness," as she called it.
"Yes, keep back and give me plenty of room. See that the other girls do
the same. The black may do a little side-stepping."
Grace, as she had done with the other ponies before mounting, stepped
up to the black and began petting and caressing him, now and then
straightening up the animal's ears, chiding him as she might a child.
This made the cowboys laugh. Cowboys when subduing broncos do not
ordinarily do so with anything resembling baby talk, and it was their
firm conviction that this pretty young tenderfoot from the east was
about to get the surprise of her life. Instead of feeling sorry for her,
however, the souls of the cowboys were filled with joy at the prospect
of some real fun. It was not often that they were privileged to see an
innocent easterner make an exhibition of himself on a vicious western
pony, and this was the first time they had ever seen a woman from the
east attempt to ride a bucking bronco, which made the occasion all the
more interesting.
"Stand clear, please," warned Grace, giving the pony's neck a final pat,

and at the same time edging her way back from his head, measuring the
distance to the stirrup with her eyes.
"I'll give you the word when to hit the leather," directed Hi