that would have been perilously near to Graham's leg had she not
reined the brute abruptly away across the neck and driven both spurs
solidly into his sides.

The Fop quivered, squealed, and for the moment stood still.

"It's the old game, the white man's game," Dick laughed. "She's not
afraid of him, and he knows it. She outgames him, out-savages him,
teaches him what savagery is in its intimate mood and tense."

Three times, while they looked on, ready to whirl their own steeds
away if he got out of hand, The Fop attempted to burst into rampage,
and three times, solidly, with careful, delicate hand on the bitter
bit, Paula Forrest dealt him double spurs in the ribs, till he stood,
sweating, frothing, fretting, beaten, and in hand.

"It's the way the white man has always done," Dick moralized, while
Graham suffered a fluttery, shivery sensation of admiration of the
beast-conquering Little Lady. "He's out-savaged the savage the world
around," Dick went on. "He's out-endured him, out-filthed him, out-
scalped him, out-tortured him, out-eaten him--yes, out-eaten him. It's
a fair wager that the white man, in extremis, has eaten more of the
genus homo, than the savage, in extremis, has eaten."

"Good afternoon," Paula greeted her guest, the ranch veterinary, and
her husband. "I think I've got him now. Let's look over the colts.
Just keep an eye, Mr. Graham, on his mouth. He's a dreadful snapper.
Ride free from him, and you'll save your leg for old age."

Now that The Fop's demonstration was over, the colts, startled into