e "Miss Penny
Ante," slim and straight as a boy scout, clad in puttees, dark blue
breeches and an olive-drab blouse.

A sleek, shy colt was suddenly inducted into the scene of action. Then
there began a frisky game of maneuvers. The little, would-be rider proved
as wary and nimble as the colt on which she finally succeeded in shooting
a bridle. Another round of come and go, and one leg went over the slender
neck, and then down the glossy back slid the lithe figure. With a
wondering, protesting neigh, the colt tried all the tactics known to his
species, but they were of no avail, and after circling and re-circling the
ring, Pen calmly relinquished him and awaited the next offer.

A wild-eyed mustang was the victim. As soon as she was mounted, he rose
high on his hind feet but came down like a lamb and ended in spinning like
a top around the ring.

A general protest went up when a demoniacal-looking buckskin was
produced.

"They are horse-mad!" exclaimed Kingdon. "Margaret, this is going to stop
right here."

"Louis," she replied earnestly, "this is only horse-play to Pen. No, I am
not punning. I didn't know she was going to make this exhibition, but some
way I feel that she can easily live up to the promises in the program."

With a plunge the buckskin went straight into mid-air and came down hard.
Then at full speed amid a whirling of dust, he tried all his tricks, but
always the little figure held her position, easily triumphant, and finally
the hitherto unmountable animal again came trembling to earth and
obediently followed his rider's will.

"You've won!" cried the cowboys.

"Now, bring me a horse, a real saddle horse--the kind you give a kingdom
for!" she demanded. "I'd like to _ride_ a bit, if you don't mind."

They brought her a beautiful thoroughbred. She rode around the ring a few
times, and then, leaping the fence to the inclosure, was away and over the
hills, her blood throbbing, her heart pounding as she felt the soft,
southwest wind in her face, the siren song of freedom ringing in her ears.
The divine sweetness of the mountain air was in her nostrils. She was
recalled from her state of rhapsody by the sound of pounding hoofs behind
her. She half turned in her saddle, expecting to see Jo. She didn't need
the commanding-toned "Wait!" to rein in her horse.

There was an inscrutable look in the blazing eyes of the approaching
horseman, a compelling force in his broad shoulders as he rode up to her.