Carolyn June felt sudden interest.

“When did he get mad about the cat?” she asked quietly.

“Allee same to-day—­when you an’ Skinny go ‘way.  Lamblin’ Kid cussee me lot—­tellee me not do him any more.  Him dangelous!  I not do him next time!” Sing Pete explained seriously.

“You are wise, Sing Pete,” Carolyn June laughed as she left the kitchen by the back door and started toward the corral where the Gold Dust maverick was restlessly pacing about.  “Don’t do it any more!  ‘Lamblin’ Kid’ is ’dangelous’—­dangerous in ways that you don’t understand!” she finished softly, her eyes lit with a strange light and her heart elated and beating quickly because of what the Chinese cook had told her.

The outlaw filly leaped to the far side of the corral and stood trembling, her head up and breath coming in whistling snorts of defiance and fear, as Carolyn June opened the gate and stepped boldly inside.  Apparently paying no attention to the frightened horse, the girl walked to the center of the corral and facing the mare leaned her back against the snubbing post.  Both stood perfectly still while the eyes of each appraised the other.

After a time the filly seemed to relax and she slowly lowered her head, yet watching, alertly, the motionless figure of Carolyn June.  The girl talked to the horse, her words gentle, her voice soothing and low.  The Gold Dust maverick became quieter still.  Presently she circled the corral, trotting swiftly and crowding closely against the fence.  Carolyn June turned, keeping her eyes always on the broncho, and continued the quiet pleading of her voice.  It was an hour before the filly shyly and cautiously came up to the girl—­before curiosity mastered her fear.  Carolyn June held out her hand and the outlaw nosed it timidly, ready instantly to spring away.  A lump of sugar was pressed into the Gold Dust maverick’s mouth—­she drew back, working the morsel about with her tongue and lips and finally spitting it out.  Several times this was repeated.  At last the beautiful creature tasted the sugar and greedily ate the lumps, permitting Carolyn June gently to stroke the velvety muzzle.  Then the girl’s hand crept higher and higher on the horse’s neck and after a little an arm was slipped over the filly’s neck.

“You darling!” Carolyn June breathed softly, “I love you!  I wonder what the Ramblin’ Kid would say if he knew I was stealing your heart?” she added demurely as she laid her face against the silky mane of the mare.

She remained at the corral until the afternoon was nearly gone.  The poplars along the front-yard fence were beginning to throw their shadows across the corral.  When at last Carolyn June started to return to the house the filly followed her to the gate of the corral and whinnied a little protest against her going.

“I don’t believe you are a bit mean,” the girl said as she looked back affectionately at the nervous, high-strung animal; “you are just lonely and want to be loved—­and understood—­that is all, and I doubt if you’d buck a single buck if I rode you right this minute!”