to like anyone who is as fond of hawsses as
you say he is. Why, when I ride--"

"I didn't know you ever rode a horse. I've only seen you on your ox."

"Poor old Buck! It's true, I have been ridin' him, when I felt lazy,
lately, but my pony--ah, that's _fun_!"

"Where is he?"

They had started strolling down the trail and were near the pasture
bars, where she had left Joe Lorey on the morning of her bath, after
having ridden down to them upon her ox.

She hurried to them, now, and, leaning over them, puckered her red lips
and sent a shrill, clear whistle out across the pasture. Immediately
from a thicket-tangle at the far end of the half-cleared lot appeared a
shaggy pony, limping wofully, but with ears pricked forward as a sign of
welcome to his mistress.

"Come on, Little Hawss!" she called. "Come on! It hurts, I know, for
you to step, but come on, just th' same. I got a turnip for you."

She turned to Layson with an explanation. "He's lame, poor Little Hawss
is. Don't know's he'll ever get all right ag'in."

"Oh!" said Layson. "And I didn't even know you had a horse." Horses are
less common in the mountains than are oxen, although nearly every
mountain farm has one, for riding. Oxen, though, are the section's
draught-animals.

"Didn't think I had a hawss?" she said, and laughed. "I'd _die_ without
a hawss! Why, they say, here in the mountains, that I'm a good rider.
I've raced all the boys and beat 'em on my Little Hawss."

She petted the affectionate, uncouth little beast and fed him slowly,
lovingly. "Little Hawss, before he hurt his hoof, was sure-footed as a
deer. Didn't have to be afraid to run him anywhere, on any kind of road
at any time of day or night," said she. "Never stumbled, never missed
the way, and, while he don't _look_ much--he never did--he could just
carry _me_ to suit me! But--well, I don't know as he will ever carry me
again!"

Layson, himself a great horse lover, went up to the shaggy little beast
and petted him. The pony knew a friend instinctively and rubbed his nose
against the rough sleeve of his jacket while he munched the turnip.

Madge stooped and lifted the poor beast's crippled foot.

"Looks bad, don't it?" she said anxiously, asking Frank's opinion as an
expert.

He looked the bad foot over carefully and shook his head.

"Madge, I am afraid it does," said he. "But wait until the Colonel
comes. He'll tell you what to do. No man knows horses better than the
Colonel doe