Colina called him in dulcet tones, and held out an inviting hand.
Ginger waywardly wagged his head and danced with his forefeet.
This was repeated several times--Colina's voice ever growing more honeyed as the rose in her cheeks deepened.

The inevitable happened--she lost her temper and stamped her foot; whereupon Ginger, with lifted tail, ran around her like a circus horse.
Colina, alternately cajoling and commanding, pursued him bootlessly.
Fond as she was of exercise, she preferred having the horse use his legs.

She sat down in the grass and cried a little out of sheer impotence.
Ginger resumed his interrupted meal on the grass with insulting unconcern.

Colina was twelve miles from home--and hungry.
Desperately casting her eyes around the horizon to discover some way out of her dilemma, Colina perceived a thin spiral of smoke rising above the edge of the river bank about a quarter of a mile away.
She had no idea who could be camping on the river at this place, but she instantly set off with her own confident assurance of finding aid.
Ginger displayed no inclination to leave the particular patch of prairie grass he had chosen for his luncheon.
As Colina approached the edge of the bank she heard a voice.

She herself made no sound in the grass.
Looking over the edge she saw a man and a dog on the stony beach below, both with their backs to her and oblivious of her approach.