e mare he talked in a low, drawling monotone,
uttering endearing phrases and occasionally slipping a lump of sugar--a
supply of which he had got that night from the kitchen--into her mouth.
She ate it ravenously.

"Darn, Little One," he laughed, "you sure have got a sweet tooth--you
gobble that sugar like an Indian squaw eatin' choc'late candy!"

At last the mare was saddled. Still holding to the rope, the Ramblin'
Kid, without trying to get the filly to follow, moved over and opened
the gate, giving it a push and swinging it wide. During the performance
the Gold Dust maverick stood perfectly still, save for a constant
chewing at the iron bit between her teeth.

The Ramblin' Kid went quietly up to her, coiling the slack of the rope
as he advanced. Without bothering to tighten the reins, but watching
closely the look in the maverick's big brown eyes and the nervous
twitching of her ears, he laid one hand on the withers of the outlaw,
with the other he grasped the horn of the saddle and slipping his foot
in the stirrup swung quickly and lightly on to her back.

For the space of a deep breath the maverick crouched, grew tense in
every muscle, slowly arched her back, gathered herself together for a
great effort.

A quiet smile curled the lips of the Ramblin' Kid as he looked down on
the curving neck of the beautiful creature.

With a tremendous leap the Gold Dust maverick sprang high into the air,
lunging forward while all her hoofs were off the ground. Her forefeet
came down across the back of Captain Jack--she had all but cleared the
little roan. The shock almost threw the stallion to the ground. As he
surged from under her the filly slid and sprawled on her shoulder and
side. Instantly she was on her feet, the Ramblin' Kid still in the
saddle. His spurs had not touched the mare--instead he had been careful
not to let their steel points so much as ruffle the golden-chestnut hair
of her belly or flank. Only when the outlaw fell had he thrown forward
his right leg and hooked the sharp rowels into the strong fiber of the
forward cinch. With the left hand he loosely held the reins, giving the
maverick her head--the other hand he brushed with a caressing upward
movement along her glossy neck.

Twice the Gold Dust maverick circled the corral, plunging, bucking
"side-winding," desperately--her nose between her knees, squealing
pitifully--as she tried vainly to rid herself of the weight of the
Ramblin' Kid.

"Go to it,