"I think so, too. I am sure I hope so. Because you remember what the
ride to Long Valley did to Miss Spencer," rejoined Glenn.

"What?" inquired Carley.

"Bad cold, peeled nose, skinned shin, saddle sores. She was in bed two
days. She didn't show much pep the rest of her stay here, and she never
got on another horse."

"Oh, is that all, Glenn?" returned Carley, in feigned surprise. "Why,
I imagined from your tone that Miss Spencer's ride must have occasioned
her discomfort.... See here, Glenn. I may be a tenderfoot, but I'm no
mollycoddle."

"My dear, I surrender," replied Glenn, with a laugh. "Really, I'm
delighted. But if anything happens--don't you blame me. I'm quite sure
that a long horseback ride, in spring, on the desert, will show you a
good many things about yourself."

That was how Carley came to find herself, the afternoon of the next day,
astride a self-willed and unmanageable little mustang, riding in the
rear of her friends, on the way through a cedar forest toward a place
called Deep Lake.

Carley had not been able yet, during the several hours of their journey,
to take any pleasure in the scenery or in her mount. For in the first
place there was nothing to see but scrubby little gnarled cedars and
drab-looking rocks; and in the second this Indian pony she rode had
discovered she was not an adept horsewoman and had proceeded to take
advantage of the fact. It did not help Carley's predicament to remember
that Glenn had decidedly advised her against riding this particular
mustang. To be sure, Flo had approved of Carley's choice, and Mr.
Hutter, with a hearty laugh, had fallen in line: "Shore. Let her ride
one of the broncs, if she wants." So this animal she bestrode must
have been a bronc, for it did not take him long to elicit from Carley a
muttered, "I don't know what bronc means, but it sounds like this pony
acts."