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"Tell him to go back to Durango and forget the foolish girl who can care only
for the desert and a horse."
"All right. That is straight talk, like an Indian's. An' now the last
question--what do you want for a birthday present?"
"Oh, of course," she cried, gleefully clapping her hands. "I'd forgotten
that. I'm eighteen!"
"You get that old chest of your mother's. But what from me?"
"Dad, will you give me anything I ask for?"
"Yes, my girl."
"Anything--any HORSE?"
Lucy knew his weakness, for she had inherited it.
"Sure; any horse but the King."
"How about Sarchedon?"
"Why, Lucy, what'd you do with that big black devil? He's too high. Seventeen
hands high! You couldn't mount him."
"Pooh! Sarch KNEELS for me."
"Child, listen to reason. Sarch would pull your arms out of their sockets."
"He has got an iron jaw," agreed Lucy. "Well, then--how about Dusty Ben?" She
was tormenting her father and she did it with glee.
"No--not Ben. He's the faithfulest hoss I ever owned. It wouldn't be fair to
part with him, even to you.


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