The
pinto threw his head and snorted, dancing sideways at sight of the
buckboard. So occupied was he with the strange vehicle that he paid
scant attention to the edge of the road. Bob saw that the passage along
the narrow outside strip was going to be precarious. He prepared to
descend, but at that moment the girl faced her pony squarely at the edge
of the road, dug her little heels into his flanks, and flicked him
sharply with the _morale_ or elongated lash of the reins. Without
hesitation the pony stepped off the grade, bunched his hoofs and slid
down the precipitous slope. So steep was the hill that a man would have
had to climb it on all fours.
Bob gasped and rose to his feet. The pony, leaving a long furrow in the
side of the mountain, caught himself on the narrow ledge of a cattle
trail, turned to the left, and disappeared at a little fox trot.
Bob looked at this companion. Welton laughed.
"There's hardly a woman in the country that doesn't help round up stock.
How'd you like to chase a cow full speed over this country, hey?"
As they progressed, mounting slowly, but steadily, the character of the
country changed.
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