ed. And she never made a move. She wanted him to
see, to understand that she had not hurt him and would not hurt him. It
began to dawn upon her that he was magnificent.

Finally, with a long, slow heave he got to his feet. Lucy led him out
of the hole to open ground. She seemed somehow confident. There
occurred to her only one way to act.

"A little horse sense, as Dad would say," she soliloquized, and then,
when she got him out of the brush, she stood thrilled and amazed.

"Oh, what a wild, beautiful horse! What a giant! He's bigger than the
King. Oh, if Dad could see him!"

The red stallion did not appear to be hurt. The twitching of his
muscles must have been caused by the cactus spikes embedded in him.
There were drops of blood all over one side. Lucy thought she dared to
try to pull these thorns out. She had never in her life been afraid of
any horse. Farlane, Holley, all the riders, and her father, too, had
tried to make her realize the danger in a horse, sooner or later. But
Lucy could not help it; she was not afraid; she believed that the
meanest horse was actuated by natural fear of a man; she was not a man
and she had never handled a horse like a man. This red stallion showed
hate of the black horse and the rope that connected them; he showed
some spirit at the repeated blasts of Sage King. But he showed less
fear of her.

"He has been a proud, wild stallion," mused Lucy. "And he's now
broken--terribly broken--all but ruined."

Then she walked up to him naturally and spoke softly, and reached a
hand for his shoulder.

"Whoa, Reddy. Whoa now.... There. That's a good fellow. Why, I wouldn't
rope you or hit you. I'm only a girl."

He drew up, made a single effort to jump, which she prevented, and then
he stood quivering, eying her, while she talked soothingly, and patted
him and looked at him in the way she had found infallible with most
horses. Lucy believed horses were like people, or easier to get along
with. Presently she gently pulled out one of the cactus spikes. The
horse flinched, but he stood. Lucy was slow, careful, patient, and
dexterous. The cactus needles were loose and easily removed or brushed
off. At length she got him free of them, and was almost as proud as she
was glad. The horse had gradually dropped his head; he was tired and
his spirit was broken.

"Now, what shall I do?" she queried. "I'll take the back trail of these
horses. They certainly hadn't been here long before I saw them