Always he was good natured, soft spoken and gentle.

When a frightened animal, not understanding, tried to kill him, he accepted it as evidence of a commendable spirit, and, with that sunny, boyish smile, informed his pupil kindly that he was a good horse and must not make a fool of himself.
In so many ways, as the Dean had said at breakfast that morning, horses are just like men.
It was mid-afternoon when the master of the Cross-Triangle again strolled leisurely out to the corrals.

Phil and his helpers, including Little Billy, were just disappearing over the rise of ground beyond the gate on the farther side of the enclosure as the Dean reached the gate that opens toward the barn and house.

He went on through the corral, and slowly, as one having nothing else to do, climbed the little knoll from which he could watch the riders in the distance.

When the horsemen had disappeared among the scattered cedars on the ridge, a mile or so to the west, the Dean still stood looking in that direction.