me, even if I never showed it. And, Al, my horse has never felt a
quirt or a spur, and I'd like to think you'd never hurt him. I'm
hoping your sister will take him. She'll be good to him, and she
can afford to take care of him. And, while I'm waiting to be
plugged by a Greaser bullet, if I happen to have a picture in
mind of how she'll look upon my horse, why, man, it's not going
to make any difference to you. She needn't ever know it.
Between you and me, Al, don't let her or Flo ride alone over Don
Carlos's way. If I had time I could tell you something about that
slick Greaser. And tell your sister, if there's ever any reason
for her to run away from anybody when she's up on that roan, just
let her lean over and yell in his ear. She'll find herself
riding the wind. So long.

Gene Stewart.


Madeline thoughtfully folded the letter and murmured, "How he
must love his horse!"

"Well, I should say so," replied Alfred. "Flo will tell you.
She's the only person Gene ever let ride that horse, unless, as
Bill thinks, the little Mexican girl, Bonita, rode him out of El
Cajon the other night. Well, sister mine, how about it--will you
accept the horse?"

"Assuredly. And very happy indeed am I to get him. Al, you said,
I think, that Mr. Stewart named him after me--saw my nickname in
the New York paper?"