I've got to ride." She pulled Pard's bridle off the peg where she always hung it, and laid an arm over his neck while she held the bit against his clinched teeth.
Pard never did take kindly to the feel of the cold steel in his mouth, and she spoke to him sharply before his jaws slackened.
"Want me to go along with you ?" Lite asked, and reached for his saddle and blanket.
"No, I want you to go to bed." Jean's tone was softer than it had been for that whole day.

"You've had all the riding you need.

I've been shut up with Aunt Ella and her favorite form of torture." "Got your gun ?" Lite gave the latigo a final pull which made Pard grunt.
"Of course.

Why ?" "Nothing,--only it's a good night for coyotes, and you might get a shot at one.

Another thing, a gun's no good on earth when you haven't got it with you." "Yes, and you've told me so about once a week ever since I was big enough to pull a trigger," Jean retorted, with something approaching her natural tone.