myself as
I sailed."

"Very well," she said. (And there's faith for you! ) "They shall be
four saddle horses, and we'll strap our saddles on behind the rig."

It was my turn to object. "Our saddle horses are not broken to harness."

"Then break them."

And what I knew about horses, much less about breaking them, was just
about as much as any sailor knows. Having been kicked, bucked off,
fallen over backward upon, and thrown out and run over, on very numerous
occasions, I had a mighty vigorous respect for horses; but a wife's faith
must be lived up to, and I went at it.

King was a polo pony from St. Louis, and Prince a many-gaited love-horse
from Pasadena. The hardest thing was to get them to dig in and pull.
They rollicked along on the levels and galloped down the hills, but when
they struck an up-grade and felt the weight of the breaking-cart, they
stopped and turned around and looked at me. But I passed them, and my
troubles began. Milda was fourteen years old, an unadulterated broncho,
and in temperament was a combination of mule and jack-rabbit blended
equally. If you pressed your hand on her flank and told her to get over,
she lay down on you. If you got her by the head and told her to back,
she walked forward over you. And if you got behind her and shoved and
told her to "Giddap!" she sat down on you. Also, she wouldn't walk. For
endless weary miles I strove with her, but never could I get her to walk
a step. Finally, she was a manger-glutton. No matter how near or far
from the stable, when six o'clock came around she bolted for home and
never missed the directest cross-road. Many times I rejected her.

The fourth and most rejected horse of all was the Outlaw. From the age
of three to seven she had defied all horse-breakers and broken a number
of them. Then a long, lanky cowboy, with a fifty-pound saddle and a
Mexican bit had got her proud goat. I was the next owner. She was my
favourite riding horse. Charmian said I'd have to put her in as a
wheeler where I would have more control over her. Now Charmian had a
favourite riding mare called Maid. I suggested Maid as a substitute.
Charmian pointed out that my mare was a branded range horse, while hers
was a near-thoroughbred, and that the legs of her mare would be ruined
forever if she were driven for three months. I acknowledged her mare's
thoroughbredness, and at the same time defied her to find any
thoroughbred with as small and delic