boys say there's a bet up that nobody can stick on
her two minutes. She's the bet. Is that right?" said Collie.

"What you goin' to do?" queried Gleason, and some of the Oro boys
laughed.

"I don't know yet," said Collie. "Maybe I'll take her back to the
Moonstone with me."

Miguel of the Moonstone removed his sombrero and gravely passed it.
"Flowers for the Collie kid," he said solemnly.

Collie, grave, alert, a little white beneath his tan, called for
Williams to hold the pony. Then the younger man, talking to her
meanwhile, slipped off the bridle and adjusted a hackamore in its place.
He tightened the cinchas. The men had ceased joking. Evidently the kid
meant business. Next he removed his spurs and flung them, with his
quirt, in a corner.

"Just defending yourself, eh, Yuma girl?" he said. "They cut all the
sense out of you with a horse-killin' bit and rip you with the spurs,
and expect you to behave."

"He'll be teachin' her to say her prayers next," observed Bud Light.
"He's gettin' a spell on her now."

"He'll need all _his_ for himself," said Pars Long.

The pony, still nervously resenting the memory of the mouth-crushing
spade-bit, and the tearing rowels, flinched and sidled away as Collie
tried to mount. Her glossy ears were flattened and the rims of her eyes
showed white.

"Jump!" whispered Williams. "And don't rough her. Mebby you'll win out."

And even as Collie's hand touched the saddle-horn, Williams sprang back
and climbed the corral bars.

With a leap the Moonstone rider was in the saddle. The pony shook her
head as he reined her round toward the corral gate. The men stared.
Gleason swore. Billy Dime began to croon a range ditty about "Picking
little Posies on the Golden Shore." The roan's sleek, sweating sides
quivered.

"Here's where she goes to it," said Williams.

"Whoop! Let 'er buck!" shouted the crowd.

Rebellion swelled in the pony's rippling muscles. She waited, fore feet
braced, for the first sting of the quirt, the first rip of the spurs, to
turn herself into a hellish thing of plunging destruction.

Collie, leaning forward, patted her neck. "Come on, sis. Come on, Yuma
girl. You're just a little hummingbird. You ain't a real horse."

With a leap the pony reared. Still there came no sting of spur or quirt.
She dropped to her feet. Collie had cleverly consumed a minute of the
allotted time.

"One minute!" called Williams, holding the watch.

"Why, that ain't ridin'," gr