“I’m going over there and get me a horse, Mom. We’ll need more horses for the roundup, and there’s as good stock built up by wild living as any bred cowhorse I know today.” Mrs. Daniels sighed. “Does seem like you’re never satisfied unless you get a new piece of wild, buckin’ horseflesh under you, Raquel.” It was as near a reproof as she had ever come. But she said no more when she saw them getting ready. “If I remember the lay of that country over there,” Raquel told Russell, “there are at least two canyons where you could close the end and corral a few animals anyway. If it takes over a week we’ll not linger. But I have my heart set on getting a horse from off the plains with a little raw mustang in him, a little Arab stallion and some native blood,--a real wild horse.” Jami, Georgie, and Angel, who was a good roper, were to go. Jami and Angel rode, but Raquel and Georgie took the car as far as the Shandy ranch, sixty miles from the Lazy L. There they left it under a shed while they rode out to look over the country on horses borrowed from their ranch neighbors. Old Shandy, a man not more than forty who looked sixty, rode with them, leading the way towards the distant pastures where the wild herd ran. They stood upon the crest of a slope, looking away over rolling distances bound to the north and the east by low-lying foothills. The range was magnificent with young gramma grass, and thick patches of bunch grass. Behind a clump of Spanish dagger where the soil was still soft from the recently melted snow was the print of a horse’s unshod hoof. Further along they came across a hoof print larger for a wild horse than any they had ever seen. Both Raquel and Georgie were delighted. But it was growing dark, too late for any more land looking that day, so they turned back to Shandy’s, where they were to put up. Shandy and his old woman--really old, alas, at thirty-eight, and childless--were so excited with the unusual experience of having company that they talked, no doubt, more than they had in six months. Raquel had brought provisions in the car and over Mrs. Shandy’s protests insisted on bringing them in. They were not going to eat the Shandys out of house and home without warning that way. She helped Mrs. Shandy fry the bacon and peel potatoes, while they set beans to soaking for the next day. There was a sack of cornmeal, one of dried peaches, and a case of condensed milk, for the Shandys, like most ranch folk, kept no milk cattle. They ate hearty dinners at five, and by eight were all stowed away, too sleepy to talk, in their hard beds, anchored under the equally hard “comforters” provided by Mrs. Shandy, and the Navajo rugs which Raquel had packed in the car.