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"You need not be," Carolyn June interrupted, "the Gold Dust maverick and I know each other she understands me and I understand her she will be perfectly gentle with me!" The next day Carolyn June rode the wonderful outlaw mare. It was as she said. The filly was perfectly gentle with her. After that, every day, the girl saddled the Gold Dust maverick and, unafraid, took long rides alone.
"What are you doin' here this time of night an' on that filly?" he asked without heeding her question. "I'm riding that this filly!" Carolyn June shot back independently. "And what are you doing here at this time of Oh," she added, before he could answer, "I I believe my saddle's slipping!" and she swung lightly from the back of the outlaw mare. "That filly'll kill you," he began. "She will not!"
She was stone-dead, and her muzzle, with its coarse long hairs, was resting on the quarters of her daughter. "That's the worst of war," said the Gentleman in that remote voice of his. "We know; they don't." "I expect it's all fairer than it seems," said the Parson huskily. The other nodded. "Have you a pistol?" The filly was not dead.
Allison and his friends shook hands with him, wished him another successful voyage, and Marcy mounted and rode away, his filly never breaking her lope until she turned through the gate into the yard, and drew up before the steps that led to the porch. His mother met him at the door and knew as soon as she looked at him that he had news for her.
The owner, without a change of expression, coiled up the rope halter and started slowly and implacably for the gate; the friend took off his hat with wounded dignity. Every gesture implied that the whole transaction was buried in an irrevocable past. Fanny Fitz's eyes followed the party as they silently left the yard, the filly stalking dutifully with a long and springy step beside her master.
"The next morning, Jack was out with a bridle in his hand, going to catch the filly. As soon as he got into the domain, sure enough, there she was in the middle of a green field, grazing quite at her ase. When Jack saw this he went over towards her, houlding out his hat as if it was full of oats; but he kept the hand that had the bridle in it behind his back, for fraid she'd see it and make off.
She was a frisky filly then she don't look nothin' like that now." "Mamie" turned, as if her former master's voice had stirred some old memory. "She's got the evil eye," Mr. Ball continued. "You wanter be keerful." "She's all right, I guess," Joe replied. "Young feller," said Mr. Ball earnestly, "do you chew terbacker?" "Yep, but I ain't got no more. I'm on the last hunk." Mr.
Carry 'im well; 'e's a strong rider, too, and a good plucked one, but bad 'ands, I should say." "Yes, Pettance; I must go in now. Will you tell Annie I shall be round to-morrow, to see her?" "Very good, miss. 'Ounds meets at Filly Cross, seven-thirty. You'll be goin' out?" "Rather. Good-night." Flying back across the yard, Gyp thought: "'She rode beautiful! How jolly! I'm glad he's got my horse."
But on the Saturday evening, just before the late dinner-hour at Woodlawn, Japheth Pettigrass, who had been trying to halter a shy filly running loose in the field across the pike, saw a stirring little drama enacted at the Woodlawn gates; saw it, and played some small part in it. It centered on Tom, who was late getting home.
If the mustangers here pick up any branded ones, they’re returned to the owners, if possible, or sold at a yearly auction. By the old Mexican law the hunting season for horses runs from October to March. Foals are old enough then to be branded. Speaking of foals, you left your mare and the filly in town?" "Kells’ll give them stable room till next month. I can bring them out then."
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