The ponies never walked--up grade, or down. They cantered or
galloped. Hesitation Kane never spoke to them; but they seemed to
know just what he wanted them to do by the way he used the
reins--and they did it.

"I don't see how he does it," said Walter to Rhoda. "It doesn't
seem really possible that one could make a horse understand without
speech."

"Oh, he can speak to them if it is necessary. But he says it isn't
often necessary to speak to a horse. The less you talk to them the
better trained they are. And Hess is daddy's boss wrangler."

"'Wrangler'?"

"Horse wrangler. Horse trainer, that means."

"But, my goodness!" chuckled Walter, "'to wrangle' certainly means
quarreling in speech. I should think it was almost like a Quaker
meeting when this Mr. Kane trains a pony."

"It is a fact," laughed Rhoda, "that the ponies make much more
noise than Hesitation does."

As they entered this deeper gulch, the girls cried out in delight.
The trail was narrow and grassy. Growing right up to the path--so
that they could stretch out their hands and pick them--were acres
and acres of wild roses. They scented the air and charmed the eye
for miles and miles along the trail.