Jean backed to a convenient pile of old corral posts and sat down to watch, with her chin in her palms, and her mind weaving shuttle-wise back and forth from one person to another, fitting them all into the pattern which made the whole.

She watched Robert Grant Burns walking back and forth, growling and chuckling by turns as things pleased him or did not please him.

She watched Muriel Gay walk to a certain spot which Burns had previously indicated, show sudden and uncalled-for fear and haste, and go through a pantomime of throwing the saddle on the sorrel.
She watched Lee Milligan carry the saddle up and throw it down upon the ground, with skirts curled under and stirrups sprawling.
"Oh, don't leave it that way," she remonstrated.

"Lay it on its side! You'll have the skirts kinked so it never will set right." Muriel Gay gasped and looked from her to Robert Grant Burns.

For betraying your country and your flag is no crime at all compared with telling your director what he must do.
"Bring that saddle over here," commanded Burns, indicating another spot eighteen inches from the first.