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Bower, B. M., 1871-1940

"Her Prairie Knight"

"
"Well, seeing you seem to be head push here, I guess it's a trade,"
Keith answered. "But I'll thank you for my own saddle."
Beatrice, whose hands were up beside her ears, and not an inch higher,
changed from amazed curiosity to concern. "Oh, you mustn't take Redcloud
away from Mr. Cameron!" she protested. "You don't know--he's so fond of
that horse! You may take mine; he's a good horse--he's a perfectly
splendid horse, but I--I'm not so attached to him."
The fellow stopped and looked at her--not, however, forgetting Keith,
who was growing restive. Beatrice's cheeks were very pink, and her eyes
were bright and big and earnest. He could not look into them without
letting some of the sternness drop out of his own.
"I wish you'd please take Rex--I'd rather trade than not," she coaxed.
When Beatrice coaxed, mere man must yield or run. The fellow was but
human, and he was not in a position to run, so he grinned and wavered.
"It's fair to say you'll get done," he remarked, his eyes upon the odd
little dimple at the corner of her mouth, as if he had never seen
anything quite so fetching.
"Your horse won't cr--buck, will he?" she ventured doubtfully. This was
her first horse trade, and it behooved her to be cautious, even at the
point of a rifle.
"Well, no," said the man laconically; "he won't. He's dead.


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