wheeling him and loping him away from the camp.  Down the trail she checked him and brought him around on his hind feet.  Back they came, with a rush.  Fernando’s deep-set eyes glowed with admiration as the girl “set-up” the pinto and swung to the ground with a laugh.  “Made him do it all over again, si.  He is the big baby, but he pretends he is bronco.  Don’t you, Challenge?” She dropped the reins and rubbed his nose.  The pony laid back his ears in simulated anger and nipped at her sleeve.  “Straighten your ears up, pronto!” she commanded, nevertheless laughing.  Then a strain of her father’s blood was apparent as she seized the reins and stood back from the horse.  “Because you’re bluffing this morning, I’m going to make you do your latest trick.  Down!” she commanded.  The pony extended his foreleg and begged to shake hands.  “No!  Down!” With a grunt the horse dropped to his knees, rolled to his side, but still kept his head raised.  “Clear down!  Dead, Challenge!” The horse lay with extended neck, but switched his tail significantly.  “Don’t you dare roll!” she said, as he gave evidence of getting up.  Then, at her gesture, he heaved himself to his feet and shook himself till the stirrups clattered.  The girl dropped the reins and turned to the old herder.  “I taught him that, Fernando.  I didn’t make him do it just to show off.  He understands now, and he’ll behave.”

Old Fernando grinned.  “He always have the good manner, being always with the Senorita,” he said bowing.

“Thanks, Fernando.  You always say something nice.  But I can’t let you get ahead of me.  What a pretty scarf.  It’s just right.  Do you wear it always, Fernando?”

“It is—­I know—­what the vaquero of the Concho call the ‘josh’ that you give me, but I am yet not too old to like it.  It is muy pleasure, si! to be noticed when one is old—­by the Senorita of especial.”

The girl’s dark eyes flashed and she laughed happily.  “It’s lots of fun, isn’t it—­to ‘josh’?  But I came to see if you needed anything.”

“Nothing while still the Senorita is at thees camp.”

“Well, you’d better think up something, for I’m going in a minute.  Have to make the rounds.  Dad is down with the rheumatism and as cross as a grizzly.  I was glad to get away.  And then, there’s Madre.”

Fernando smiled and nodded.  He was not unfamiliar with the patron’s temper when rheumatism obliged him to be inactive.  “He say nothing, the patron—­that we cross the sheep to the west of the river, Senorita?”

“No.  Not lately.  I don’t know why he should want to.  The feed is good here.”

“I have this morning talk with the vaquero Corlees.  He tell me that the South Fork is dry up.”

“John Corliss is not usually interested in our sheep,” said the girl.

“No.  Of the sheep he knows nothing.”  And the old herder smiled.  “But many times he look out there,” he added, pointing toward the Loring rancho.