It took an hour to learn this. The soft-voiced creature spoke gently to him from time to time whenever he stood still. She had dismounted and stood not far away. There was danger in that contest between the girl and the horse. But if there had not been something of a conquest the pinto would not have meant so much to Raquel. Finally, although he trembled, he stood still when she came near. She laid a hand on the rope and drew it taut, while the other crept up towards his velvet muzzle. Over and over the girl’s fingers crept up the rope, and the sun was sinking when at last her soft palm came to rest over his spotted nose. The wild nostrils widened, a great exhalation of fear was released, but Raquel’s reassuring touch, gentle as a breeze, remained. Her hand crept to his neck, patted the sturdy shoulder. Dusk was falling when Raquel rode the wild horse up to the very door of the Shandy adobe. His flanks were wet, yet Raquel wore no spur and guided her mount with a rope bridle. “I did not even need the bit,” she said at once. “Custer’s pony is back there tied in the canyon corral. Will you ride over and bring him back for me, Jami?” She turned the pinto into a walled corral, staking him with a twelve foot rope. She caressed his nose as she said good night. He drew back, but submitted with a curious widening of the eyes. He had had a rope about his head, had carried a weight on his back, but now he did not want to fight this creature who had conquered him. Something of that trust which the horse can feel for man had entered his free, wild heart. It was three days later that Raquel rode into the home corral on her milk and sorrel steed. They had spent one night on the open meadow, one at La Raquelita, making about twenty miles a day. With a thrill of exultation Raquel slipped from the pinto’s back. “You’ll have your own corral, _querido_, never fear.” She spoke softly into his creamy ear while she deftly loosed the cinches, unsaddled, and set saddle and blanket on the ground behind the newly gentled animal. The neck rope was thrown to the ground so the pinto should learn that where it rested he remained. Raquel moved towards the gate. The horse’s intelligent eyes followed this new being who so compelled his obedience and his devotion. He ran a few steps after her, but the gate brushed his breast, and he drew back with a look of the frenzy he was to forget. Then the quiet voice which already affected him so, and which he was to learn so to love, stopped the quick beating of his heart. “_Adios, compadre._ We’ll have many a fine time together, little Paintbrush. That is your name.” Mom was at the kitchen door, her eyes crinkled with pleasure. “So you got you a little pinto, honey? Always did want one more’n any color horseflesh, didn’t you?” And there was much talk round the table of the beauties and powers of this remarkable mustang, and his gaits.