"He's never had a bridle, an' never will have one, I reckon." "You don't ride him ?" queried Helen.
"Sometimes I do," replied Roy, with a smile.

"Would you girls like to try him ?" "Excuse me," answered Helen.
"Gee!" ejaculated Bo.

"He looks like a devil.

But I'd tackle him--if you think I could." The wild leaven of the West had found quick root in Bo Rayner.
"Wal, I'm sorry, but I reckon I'll not let you--for a spell," replied Roy, dryly.
"He pitches somethin' powerful bad." "Pitches.

You mean bucks ?" "I reckon." In the next half-hour Helen saw more and learned more about how horses of the open range were handled than she had ever heard of.