"Anything--any HORSE?"

Lucy knew his weakness, for she had inherited it.

"Sure; any horse but the King."

"How about Sarchedon?"

"Why, Lucy, what'd you do with that big black devil? He's too high. Seventeen
hands high! You couldn't mount him."

"Pooh! Sarch KNEELS for me."

"Child, listen to reason. Sarch would pull your arms out of their sockets."

"He has got an iron jaw," agreed Lucy. "Well, then--how about Dusty Ben?" She
was tormenting her father and she did it with glee.

"No--not Ben. He's the faithfulest hoss I ever owned. It wouldn't be fair to
part with him, even to you. Old associations . . . a rider's loyalty . . .
now, Lucy, you know--"

"Dad, you're afraid I'd train and love Ben into beating the King. Some day
I'll ride some horse out in front of the gray. Remember, Dad! . . . Then give
me Two Face."

"Sure not her, Lucy. Thet mare can't be trusted. Look why we named her Two
Face."

"Buckles, then, dear generous Daddy who longs to give his grown-up girl