You mount and ride up that draw till you
get to the ridge. Come up to where you can see camp over the brow of the
hill--sabe?--and then wait till I whistle. One whistle, get ready to come
down. Two whistles, you, come. Ride past camera, just the way Jean did. You
know you're following the white girl and trying to catch up with her. You're a
friend and you have a message for her, but she's scared and is running away--
sabe? You want to come down slow first and pick your trail?"
"No." Annie-Many-Ponies started toward the pinto pony which was her mount in
this picture. "I come down hill. I make big punch for you. Pete turn camera."
"You've got more nerve than I have, Annie," Jean told her good-naturedly as
she went by. "I'd hate to run a horse down there bareback."
"I go where Wagalexa Conka say." From the corner of her eye she saw the quick
frown of jealousy upon the face of Ramon, and her pulse gave an extra beat of
triumph.
With an easy spring she mounted the pinto pony, took the reins of her squaw
bridle that was her only riding gear, folded her gay blanket snugly around her
uncorseted body and touched the pinto with her moccasined heels. She was
ready--ready to the least little tensed nerve that tingled with eagerness
under the calm surface.
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