it--she wouldn't let anybody else touch it--so she stood it in a corner
and squalled at it from a safe distance. When the party was over, an
older sister had to carry it for her. I suspect she much preferred her
native dolls.

After the tree was bare, we all went down to the Fred Harvey Recreation
Room and danced the rest of the evening away.

I could hardly wait for morning to go for a ride on Tar Baby. Ranger
West brought him down to the house to saddle him. While I dressed up in
my new boots I overheard the conversation between the ranger and the
horse. It was a rather one-sided talk, but quite interesting.

"Whoa there, Tar Baby!" very firmly and casually. "Stand still now!"

"Hey, now, you black devil, don't you try bitin' me again! Yes, he's a
nice baby horse," this last remark quite saccharine. A slight silence
fell while the cinches were being tightened, then--heels beating a tune
on the side of the shed, and sultry, sulphuric remarks being fitted to
the tune. About that time I was ready to go out.

"Have any trouble with Tar Baby?"

"No, oh, no. None whatever. Ready to go?"

Every morning as soon as I was in the saddle we had the same argument.
Would he go where and as fast as I desired, or would he run as fast and
as far as he pleased? Sore wrists and a strained disposition were the
price I paid for winning the battle. He just went wild if he could race
with another horse. Of course White Mountain put his foot down on such
racing, and since the rangers were such good sports their Chief never
learned that racing was part of the daily program!

One day, when some of the Washington officials were there, the Chief
borrowed Tar Baby to ride. He said it took him half a day to get him to
stay on the ground with the other horses. He came home fully determined
that I must trade my Christmas gift for a more sensible horse. Tears and
coaxing availed nothing, but I did win his consent to one more ride
before I gave him up.

Ranger West was going to ride the drift fence and I started out with
him. Tar Baby was a handful that day, and I was having all I could do to
control him. We passed a bunch of tourists having lunch out of paper
sacks, and one of the men had a wonderful idea. He said something to the
others, and while they giggled he blew one of the bags full of air and
exploded it right under my horse. Of course Tar Baby bolted, and even as
he ran away I admired his ability to keep ahead of Ranger West, who wa