"
"Reckon so?" asked Bud, looking at Ben out of the corner of a twinkling
eye.
"Oh, dear me, but he's awfully ugly," said Stella, coming from the tent
which she and her aunt, Mrs. Graham, occupied a short distance from the
camp.
She was as spick and span as a new dollar, nattily dressed in a
bifurcated riding skirt, from beneath which peeped a pair of high tan
riding boots.
Her white Stetson had just the right curl of brim to be most becoming,
and her wavy hair fell in profusion over her shoulders.
She was pulling on a pair of fringed gauntlets, and her braided quirt,
with a silver knob for a handle, hung by its thong from her slender
wrist.
"Now, see here, Stella, don't yer go ter feelin' knocky about yer mount,
er yer won't hev no confidence in him, an' will lose. I want ter say ter
yer right now that this hoss what looks like ther last rose o' summer,
ther last run o' shad, an' ther breakin' up o' a hard winter in a last
year's bird's nest, is all right, an' he can't lose this race. Ride him
true, an' don't give him ther gad none.
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