Having very few people to talk to, Marjorie had formed the habit of talking to her live pets, of which Roland was her favorite. Her father had given him to her when he was only a month old, and she had trained him herself, as soon as he was old enough to bear the saddle, to say nothing of the many romps the two had enjoyed together in the days of his colthood. It seemed to her sometimes as if Roland must really understand some of the things she told him, and now, at her remark about the train, he slackened his pace to a leisurely trot, as if under the impression that there was no use in hurrying. "It is hot, isn't it, Roland?" said Marjorie, sympathetically. "You and I will be glad when winter comes, and we can have some fine gallops. I thought I might be going away to leave you this winter, but I'm not." Roland pricked up his ears, and quickened his pace. "What is it, Roland?" Marjorie inquired in surprise. "Oh, I see, it's José on his black bronco." Her face brightened, and she waved her hand in friendly welcome to the approaching figure of a small Mexican boy, mounted on an equally small pony. "Hello, José!" she called, as the two came within speaking distance of each other; "Do you know whether the East Bound has passed yet or not?" "See there," said the boy, pointing in the direction from which he had come. "Something wrong with engine. She been there three hours. My father tell me, and I go see." "How exciting!" cried Marjorie, everything else forgotten for the moment in the interest of this news. "Do you think she'll stay much longer?" José shook his head; he could not say. He was a rather dull boy, but Marjorie had known him all her life, as she had known every inhabitant, Mexican or Indian, who had made a home in that desolate region. She could speak Spanish almost as well as English, and could carry on a conversation in two Indian dialects. She did not wait for any more conversation with José on this occasion, however, but with a chirp to Roland to indicate that she wished to go faster, hurried the pony along at such a pace that in less than five minutes they came in sight of the waiting train. No, she was not too late. The long transcontinental express was standing still, and a number of the passengers had left the cars and were sauntering leisurely about. Marjorie's heart beat fast with excitement, and she drew the pony in sharply. "We mustn't go too near, Roland," she whispered. "Oh, look, isn't it interesting? See those girls in shirt-waists and straw hats. They look just about my age. How I should like to speak to them, but I suppose they would think it queer."