beautiful pair of brown eyes. Wes always called him
"Baby." He was in fact the youngster of the party,
with all the engaging qualities of youth. I never saw
a horse more willing. He wanted to do what you
wanted him to; it pleased him, and gave him a
warm consciousness of virtue which the least observant
could not fail to remark. When leading he
walked industriously ahead, setting the pace; when
driving,--that is, closing up the rear,--he attended
strictly to business. Not for the most luscious bunch
of grass that ever grew would he pause even for an
instant. Yet in his off hours, when I rode irresponsibly
somewhere in the middle, he was a great hand
to forage. Few choice morsels escaped him. He
confided absolutely in his rider in the matter of bad
country, and would tackle anything I would put him
at. It seemed that he trusted me not to put him at
anything that would hurt him. This was an invaluable
trait when an example had to be set to the reluctance
of the other horses. He was a great swimmer.
Probably the most winning quality of his nature was
his extreme friendliness. He was always wandering
into camp to be petted, nibbling me over with his
lips, begging to have his forehead rubbed, thrusting
his nose under an elbow, and otherwise telling how
much he thought of us. Whoever broke him did a
good job. I never rode a better-reined horse. A mere
indication of the bridle-hand turned him to right or
left, and a mere raising of the hand without the
slightest pressure on the bit stopped him short. And how