A few books."

"Leslie, haven't you any beaus?" asked Sterl lightly.

"I had. But Dad shut down on them lately," replied the girl, seriously. "Not that I cared much. Only I've been lonesome."

"Wal, young lady," drawled Red, "you ain't gonna be so lonesome from now on, if my hunch is correct."

"That black horse--" spoke up Sterl, pointing to a noble, rangy beast.

"That's King. He's five years old. Bred from Dad's great dam. King has won all his races the last two years. Oh, he's swift! He threw me last race. But we won."

"So you were up on him? Well!" rejoined Sterl, in wonder and admiration.

"Yes, I can ride him. But Dad says no more. At least not in races. He's too strong. Has a mouth like iron. And once running against other horses, he's terrific."

"I'll have to put my hands on him," said Sterl.

"You're going to ride him, cowboy," replied the girl. "Let's go inside the paddock."

Red had straddled the top bar of the fence, and his silence was eloquent. Leslie led the way inside. She called and whistled. All the horses threw up their heads, and some of them started for her. Then they trooped forward, fine heads up, manes flying. Still they halted some yards from the fence, eager, whinnying, but not trustful of the strangers.

"Come up heah, pard," called Red. "They're skeered of you. Instinct! They know you're a hard-ridin' hombre from Arizonie."

Leslie walked away from the fence somewhat, and coaxed. A spotted iron-gray animal, clean-cut in build, was the first to come to the girl.

"Jester," she called to him, and got hold of his mane to lead him back to the fence. "One of my best. He's tricky--full of the devil, but fast, tireless... Red, would you like to have him on the trek? It would please me. I think you'd be clever enough to match him."

"Would I?--Aw, Leslie, that's too good of you. Why, he took my eye fust thing. But I oughtn't take him!"

"Done! He's yours. Get down and make friends with him."

Red complied with alacrity.