"Flower, Jessie Graham - Grace Harlowe - Overland Riders 01 - Grace Harlowe's Overland Riders On the Great American Desert" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flower Jessie Graham)

Tom Gray shrugged his shoulders and laughed.
"Go to it, little woman. You have my full permission to break your neck if you
insist. I will see that little Yvonne keeps your memory green."
"Oh, Tom! You are such a dear, but I promise you that you won't have occasion to
keep my memory green so far as that mischievous little black pony is concerned."

Grace Harlowe's confidence in herself was not without good and sufficient
reason. The western pony that she had ridden the previous winter had
demonstrated nearly all the tricks known to the stubborn broncos of the great
west. At first Grace had had some bad spills, but eventually she learned to
outwit her pony and ride him no matter how savagely he tried to unhorse her.
Not only had Grace learned to ride, in anticipation of another summer in the
saddle, but, under her husband's instruction, she had taken up revolver
shooting, and by spring was capable of qualifying as an expert, especially in
quick shooting at moving targets. Thus fitted for the strenuous life in the
wilder parts of her native land, Grace looked forward with calm assurance to the
experiences that she knew lay before her.
"Bring out the black," Hi Lang had directed. "Cinch him so tight it will make
him squeal."
When a wrangler's rope caught him, the wiry little animal fought viciously for a
few moments, then suddenly surrendered and was led out as docile as a lamb.
"Who said that black is vicious?" demanded Hippy Wingate.
"Want to ride him?" asked the guide good-naturedly.
"No. I have a real pony for myself."
"Watch those ears, Grace," warned Tom Gray.
"I am," replied Grace, and Hi Lang, overhearing, grunted his satisfaction.
The black pony's ears were tilted back at an angle of forty-five degrees, and
there he held them while the saddle was being set in place, and the girth
cinched, both forefeet spread wide apart and head well down. He winced a little
as the girth was drawn a hole tighter so that the saddle might not slip, but
otherwise made no move, which, the cowboys said, was an unusual thing for him to
do.
The pony's sudden surrender was of itself suspicious to those who were familiar
with the western bronco, and the laid-back ears were significant to them of
trouble to come.
"Is he an outlaw!" asked Grace, meaning an animal naturally so vicious that he
never had been satisfactorily broken.
Hi Lang, to whom the question had been addressed, gave Grace a quick glance of
inquiry.
"Some call him that. At least he's got the ginger in him, and mebby he is an
outlaw. Keep a tight rein on him; don't let him get his head down if you can
help his doing so, and stick to your leather. Watch him every second, for he's
got a box full of tricks."
"Thank you for the suggestions. I shall not forget."
"I ought not let you ride him. I reckon you'll get enough of the critter before
you have ridden him many minutes, even if you stick on that long."
"Mr. Lang, I intend to ride that 'critter,' as you call him, across the desert.
Will he bolt while I am mounting?"
"Mebby. All ready now."
"Have you any last requests to make, Grace Harlowe?" asked Elfreda Briggs