Lucy felt that she
had left childhood behind with its fun and fancies, and she had begun
to look at life thoughtfully.

Sight of the corrals, however, and of the King prancing around, drove
serious thoughts away. There were riders there, among them Farlane, and
they all had pleasant greetings for her.

"Farlane, Dad says I'm to take out Sage King," announced Lucy.

"No!" ejaculated Farlane, as he pocketed his pipe.

"Sure. And I'm to RIDE him. You know how Dad means that."

"Wal, now, I'm doggoned!" added Farlane, looking worried and pleased at
once. "I reckon, Miss Lucy, you--you wouldn't fool me?"

"Why, Farlane!" returned Lucy, reproachfully. "Did I ever do a single
thing around horses that you didn't want me to?"

Farlane rubbed his chin beard somewhat dubiously. "Wal, Miss Lucy, not
exactly while you was around the hosses. But I reckon when you onct got
up, you've sorta forgot a few times."

All the riders laughed, and Lucy joined them.

"I'm safe when I'm up, you know that," she replied.

They brought out the gray, and after the manner of riders who had the
care of a great horse and loved him, they curried and combed and rubbed
him before saddling him.

"Reckon you'd better ride Van's saddle," suggested Farlane. "Them races
is close now, an' a strange saddle--"

"Of course. Don't change anything he's used to, except the stirrups,"
replied Lucy.

Despite her antipathy toward Sage King, Lucy could not gaze at him
without all a rider's glory in a horse. He was sleek, so graceful, so
racy, so near the soft gray of the sage, so beautiful in build and
action. Then he was the kind of a horse that did not have to be
eternally watched. He was spirited and full of life, eager to run, but
when Farlane called for him to stand still he obeyed. He was the kind
of a horse that a child could have played around in safety. He never
kicked. He never bit. He never bolted. It was splendid to see him with
Farlane or with Bostil. He did not like Lucy very well, a fact that
perhaps accounted for Lucy's antipathy. For that matter, he did not
like any woman. If he had a bad trait, it came out when Van rode him,
but all the riders, and Bostil, too, claimed that Van was to blame for
that.

"Thar, I reckon them stirrups is right," declared Farlane. "Now, Miss
Lucy, hold him tight till he wears off thet edge. He needs work."

Sage King would not kneel for Lucy as Sarchedon did, and he was too
high for her to mount from the g