I'll eat it," Pinkey declared, bluntly.

"Can you make out the brand?" asked Miss Spenceley.

Pinkey ruffed the hair again and stepped back and squinted. Then his
cracked lips stretched in a grin that threatened to start them bleeding:
"'88' is the way I read it."

She nodded: "The brand of Cain."

Then they both laughed immoderately.

Wallie could see no occasion for merriment and it nettled him.

"Nevertheless, I maintain that you are in error," he declared,
obstinately.

"I doubt if I could set one of them hen-skin saddles," observed Pinkey,
changing the subject.

Wallie replied airily:

"Oh, it's very easy if you've been taught properly."

"Taught? You mean," wonderingly, "that somebody _learnt_ you to ride
horseback?"

Wallie smiled patronizingly:

"How else would I know?"

"I was jest throwed on a horse and told to stay there."

"Which accounts for the fact that you Western riders have no 'form,' if
you'll excuse my frankness."

"Don't mention it," replied Pinkey, not to be outdone in politeness.
"Maybe, before I go, you'll give me some p'inters?"

"I shall be most happy," Wallie responded, putting his foot in the
stirrup.

He mounted creditably and settled himself in the saddle.

"Thumb him," said Miss Spenceley, "and we'll soon settle the argument."

"How--thumb him? The term is not familiar."

"Show him, Pinkey." Her eyes were sparkling, for Wallie's tone implied
that the expression was slang and also rather vulgar.

"He'll unload his pack as shore as shootin'." Pinkey hesitated.

"No time like the present to learn a lesson," she replied, ambiguously.

"Certainly--if there's anything you can teach me," Wallie's smile said
as plain as words that he doubted it. "Mr. Fripp--er--'thumb' him."

"You're the doctor," said Pinkey, grimly, and "thumbed" him.

The effect was instantaneous. The old horse ducked his head, arched his
back, and went at it.

It was over in less time than it requires to tell and Wallie was
convinced beyond the question of a doubt that the horse had not been
bred in Kentucky. As he described an aerial circle Wallie had a
whimsical notion that his teeth had bitten into his brain and his spine
was projected through the crown of his derby hat. Darkness and oblivion
came upon him for a moment, and then he found himself being lifted
tenderly from a bed of petunias and dusted off by the groom from the
Riding Academy.

The ladies were screaming, but a swift glance sh