Suddenly there was an awful roar, my pony shot round upon his hind legs after his beastly cayuse manner, deposited me sitting upon the ground and fled down the trail, pursued by two huge dogs that brushed past me as I fell.

I was aroused from my amazement by a peal of laughter, shrill but full of music.
Turning, I saw my pupil, as I guessed, standing at the head of a most beautiful pinto (spotted) pony with a heavy cattle quirt in her hand.

I scrambled to my feet and said, somewhat angrily, I fear: "What are you laughing at?
Why don't you call back your dogs?
They will chase my pony beyond all reach." She lifted her little head, shook back her masses of brown-red hair, looked at me as if I were quite beneath contempt and said: "No, they will kill him." "Then," said I, for I was very angry, "I will kill them," pulling at the revolver in my belt.
"Then," she said, and for the first time I noticed her eyes blue-black, with gray rims, "I will kill you," and she whipped out an ugly-looking revolver.

From her face I had no doubt that she would not hesitate to do as she had said.

I changed my tactics, for I was anxious about my pony, and said, with my best smile: "Can't you call them back?
Won't they obey you ?" Her face changed in a moment.
"Is it your pony?
Do you love him very much ?" "Dearly!" I said, persuading myself of a sudden affection for the cranky little brute.
She sprang upon her pinto and set off down the trail.