eel to cantle, Stan threw his arm
about the small red neck, and dragged the red pony to a choking stand.
The small blue boy slipped to earth, twisted the soft bridle rein once
and again to a miraculous double half-hitch about the red pony's jaw,
and tightened it with a jerk.

"I've got him!" shrieked the blue boy.

The red pony turned mild bright eyes upon brown Awguan, and twitched red
velvet ears to express surprise, and wrinkled a polite nose.

"Hello! I hadn't noticed you before. Fine day, isn't it?" said the ears.

Awguan rolled his wicked eye and snorted. The blue boy shrilled a comment
of surprising particulars--a hatless boy in denim. Stanley turned his
head at a clatter of hoofs; Something Dewing, on the trail from town,
galloped to join them.

"That was a creditable arrest you made, Mitchell," he said, drawing rein.
"I saw it all from the top of Mule Hill. And I certainly thought our
Little Boy Blue was going to take the Big Trip. He'll make a hand!"

The gambler's eyes, unguarded and sincere for once, flashed quizzical
admiration at Little Boy Blue, who, concurrently with the above speech,
quavered forth his lurid personal opinions of the red pony. He was a
lean, large-eyed person, apparently of some nine or ten years--which left
his vocabulary unaccounted for; his face was smeared and bleeding,
scratched by catclaw; his apparel much betattered by the same reason.

He now checked a flood of biographical detail concerning the red pony
long enough to fling a remark their way:

"Ain't no Boy Blue--damn your soul! Name's Robteeleecarr!"

Dewing and Mitchell exchanged glances.

"What's that? What did he say?"

"He means to inform you," said Dewing, "that his name is Robert E.
Lee Carr." His glance swept appraisingly up the farther hill, and he
chuckled: "Old Israel Putnam would be green with envy if he had seen that
ride. Some boy!"

"He must be a new one to Cobre; I've never seen him before."

"Been here a week or ten days, and he's a notorious character already. So
is Nan-na."

"Nan-na, I gather, being the pony?"

"Exactly. Little Apache devil, that horse is. Robert's dad, one Jackson
Carr, is going to try freighting. He's camped over the ridge at Hospital
Springs, letting his horses feed up and get some meat on their bones.
Here! Robert E. Lee, drop that club or I'll put the dingbats on you
instanter! Don't you pound that pony! I saw you yesterday racing the
streets with the throat-latch of yo