He glanced from ribbon to note, ended his indecision by stuffing the note carelessly into his coat pocket and letting the ribbon drop to the ground, and with a curl of the lips which betrayed his mental attitude toward all women and particularly toward that woman, picked up his saddle.
"I can't seem to recollect asking that lady for help, anyway," he summed up before he dismissed the subject from his mind altogether.

"I was trying to help her; it sure takes a woman to twist things around so they point backwards!" He turned and glanced pityingly at Rambler, watching him with ears perked forward inquiringly.

"And I crippled a damned good horse trying to help a blamed poor specimen of a woman!" he gritted.

"And didn't get so much as a pleasant word for it.

I'll sure remember that!" Rambler whinnied after him wistfully, and Ford set his teeth hard together and walked the faster, his shoulders slightly bent under the weight of the saddle.