matched pairs up to nineteen hundred. Lord, Lord, that was a year for
horse-prices--blue sky, and then some."

As Mr. Mendenhall rode away, a man, on a slender-legged, head-tossing
Palomina, rode up to them and was introduced to Graham as Mr.
Hennessy, the ranch veterinary.

"I heard Mrs. Forrest was looking over the colts," he explained to his
employer, "and I rode across to give her a glance at The Fawn here.
She'll be riding her in less than a week. What horse is she on to-day?"

"The Fop," Dick replied, as if expecting the comment that was prompt
as the disapproving shake of Mr. Hennessy's head.

"I can never become converted to women riding stallions," muttered the
veterinary. "The Fop is dangerous. Worse--though I take my hat off to
his record--he's malicious and vicious. She--Mrs. Forrest ought to
ride him with a muzzle--but he's a striker as well, and I don't see
how she can put cushions on his hoofs."

"Oh, well," Dick placated, "she has a bit that _is_ a bit in his
mouth, and she's not afraid to use it--"

"If he doesn't fall over on her some day," Mr. Hennessy grumbled.
"Anyway, I'll breathe easier when she takes to The Fawn here. Now
_she's_ a lady's mount--all the spirit in the world, but nothing
vicious. She's a sweet mare, a sweet mare, and she'll steady down from
her friskiness. But she'll always be a gay handful--no riding academy
proposition."