“Give me the saddle, Bud.”

The little negro boy handed her the light racing saddle; a very featherweight of a saddle.

“Steady, Shashai.”

The colt stood like a statue expecting the girl as usual to spring upon his back.  Instead she placed upon it a stiff, leather affair which puzzled him not a little, and from which dangled two curious contrivances.  These, however, she quickly caught up and fastened over the back and their metallic clicking ceased to annoy him.  The buckling was a little strenuous.  Hitherto a surcingle had served to hold the blanket upon his back, but this contraption had two surcingles and a stiff leather strap to boot, which Peggy’s strong hands pulled tighter than any straps had ever before been pulled around him.  He quivered slightly but stood the test and—­a lump of sugar was held beneath his eager nostrils, If that followed it was worth while standing to have that ugly, stiff thing adjusted.

“Now the headstall, Bud.  Did you coat the bit with the melted sugar as I told you?”

“Yes’m, missie.  It’s fair cracklin’ wid sugar, an’ onct he gits a lick ob dat bit he ain’ never gwine let go, yo’ hyar me.”

“Now, my bonny one, we’ll see,” said Peggy, as she unstrapped the bit, and the headstall without it was no more than the halter to which Shashai had been accustomed.  Then very gently she held the bit toward him.  He tried to take it as he would have taken the sugar and his look of surprise when his lips closed over the hard metal thing was amusing.  Nevertheless, it tasted good and he mouthed and licked it, gradually getting it well within his mouth.  At an opportune moment Peggy slipped the right buckle into place, quickly following it by the left one.  Shashai started.

“Steady, Shashai.  Steady, boy,” she said gently and the day was won.  No shocks, no lashings, no harsh words to make the sight of that headstall throw him into a panic whenever it was produced.  Dozens of horses had been so educated by Peggy Stewart.  Shashai sucked at his queer mouthpiece as a child would suck a stick of candy, and while he was enjoying its sweetness Peggy brought forth lump number two.  Four was his daily allowance, and as he enjoyed number two she let down the stirrups which had seemed likely to startle him.

“Stand outside, Bud, he may be a little frightened when the saddle creaks.”  The boy left the paddock.

“Stand, Shashai,” commanded Peggy, resting her hand upon the colt’s withers.  He knew perfectly well what to expect, but why that strange groaning and creaking?  The blanket had never done so.  The sensitive nerves quivered and he sprang forward, but Peggy had caught her stirrups and her low voice quieted him as she swayed and adapted herself to his gait.  Around and around the paddock they loped in perfect harmony of motion.  She did not draw upon the bridle rein, merely holding it as she had been accustomed to hold her halter strap, guiding by her knees.  Shashai tossed his head partly in nervous irritation at the creaking saddle, partly in the joy of motion, and joy won the day.  Then Peggy began to draw slightly upon her reins.  The colt shook his head impatiently as though asking:  “Wherefor the need?  I know exactly where you wish to go.”