Don't forget that, Miss Spitfire.

You let Skinner go to suit himself--and if he goes wrong, you pay, because it'll be you reining him wrong.

Get along there, Skinner!" Skinner got along in a businesslike way that told why Al Woodruff had chosen to ride him on this trip.

He seemed to be a perfectly dependable saddle horse for a bandit to own.

He wound in and out among the trees and boulders, stepping carefully over fallen logs; he thrust his nose out straight and laid back his ears and pushed his way through thickets of young pines; he went circumspectly along the edge of a deep gulch, climbed over a ridge and worked his way down the precipitous slope on the farther side, made his way around a thick clump of spruces and stopped in a little, grassy glade no bigger than a city lot, but with a spring gurgling somewhere near.