Florence paused.

"Oh, the cow-ponies! Well, they sure are interesting. Broncos,
the boys call them. Wild! they're wilder than the steers they
have to chase. Bill's got broncos heah that never have been
broken and never will be. And not every boy can ride them,
either. The vaqueros have the finest horses. Don Carlos has a
black that I'd give anything to own. And he has other fine
stock. Gene Stewart's big roan is a Mexican horse, the swiftest
and proudest I ever saw. I was up on him once and--oh, he can
run! He likes a woman, too, and that's sure something I want in
a horse. I heard Al and Bill talking at breakfast about a horse
for you. They were wrangling. Bill wanted you to have one, and
Al another. It was funny to hear them. Finally they left the
choice to me, until the round-up is over. Then I suppose every
cowboy on the range will offer you his best mount. Come, let's
go out to the corrals and look over the few horses left."

For Madeline the morning hours flew by, with a goodly part of the
time spent on the porch gazing out over that ever-changing vista.
At noon a teamster drove up with her trunks. Then while Florence
helped the Mexican woman get lunch Madeline unpacked part of her
effects and got out things for which she would have immediate
need. After lunch she changed her dress for a riding-habit and,
going outside, found Florence waiting with the horses.

The Western girl's clear eyes seemed to take stock of Madeline's
appearance in one swift, inquisitive glance and then shone with
pleasure.