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This red stallion
showed hate of the black horse and the rope that connected them; he showed
some spirit at the repeated blasts of Sage King. But he showed less fear of
her.
"He has been a proud, wild stallion," mused Lucy. "And he's now
broken--terribly broken--all but ruined."
Then she walked up to him naturally and spoke softly, and reached a hand for
his shoulder.
"Whoa, Reddy. Whoa now. . . . There. That's a good fellow. Why, I wouldn't
rope you or hit you. I'm only a girl."
He drew up, made a single effort to jump, which she prevented, and then he
stood quivering, eying her, while she talked soothingly, and patted him and
looked at him in the way she had found infallible with most horses. Lucy
believed horses were like people, or easier to get along with. Presently she
gently pulled out one of the cactus spikes. The horse flinched, but he stood.
Lucy was slow, careful, patient, and dexterous. The cactus needles were loose
and easily removed or brushed off. At length she got him free of them, and was
almost as proud as she was glad.


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