"Oh, Mr. Brackton, the wagon's in, and did my box come? . . . To-day's my
birthday."

"'Deed it did, Lucy; an' many more happy ones to you!" he replied, delighted
in her delight. "But it's too heavy for you. I'll send it up--or mebbe one of
the boys--"

Five riders in unison eagerly offered their services and looked as if each had
spoken first. Then Macomber addressed her:

"Miss Lucy, you see this here sorrel?"

"Ah! the same lazy crowd and the same old story--a horse trade!" laughed Lucy.

"There's a little difference of opinion," said Macomber, politely indicating
the riders. "Now, Miss Lucy, we-all know you're a judge of a hoss. And as good
as thet you tell the truth. Thet ain't in some hoss-traders I know. . . . What
do you think of this mustang?"

Macomber had eyes of enthusiasm for his latest acquisition, but some of the
cock-sureness had been knocked out of him by the blunt riders.

"Macomber, aren't you a great one to talk?" queried Lucy, severely. "Didn't
you get around Dad and trade him an old, blind, knock-kneed bag of bones for a
perfectly good pony--one I liked to ride?"

The riders shouted with laughter while the rancher struggled with confusion.

"'Pon my word, Miss Lucy, I'm surprised you could think thet of such an old