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“I reckon he ain’t used to the sight of a woman,” proffered the Senor, disappointed. “He’ll get used to you. Go up to him soft-like and rub him between the eyes.”‘

Estrella approached, but the pony jerked back his head with every symptom of distrust. She forgot the sugar she had intended to offer him.

“He’s a perfect beauty,” she said at last, “but, my! I’d never dare ride him. I’m awful scairt of horses.”

“Oh, he’ll come around all right,” assured Brent easily. “I’ll fix him.”

“Oh, Mr. Brent,” she exclaimed, “don’t think I don’t appreciate what you’ve done. I’m sure he’s really just as gentle as he can be. It’s only that I’m foolish.”

“I’ll fix him,” repeated Brent.

The two men conducted her here and there, showing her the various institutions of the place. A man bent near the shed nailing a shoe to a horse’s hoof.

“So you even have a blacksmith!” said Estrella. Her guides laughed amusedly.

“Tommy, come here!” called the Senor.

The horseshoer straightened up and approached. He was a lithe, curly-haired young boy, with a reckless, humorous eye and a smooth face, now red from bending over.

“Tommy, shake hands with Mrs. Johnson,” said the Senor. “Mrs. Johnson wants to know if you’re the blacksmith.” He exploded in laughter.

“Oh, BUCK!” cried Estrella again.

“No, ma’am,” answered the boy directly; “I’m just tacking a shoe on Danger, here. We all does our own blacksmithing.”

His roving eye examined her countenance respectfully, but with admiration. She caught the admiration and returned it, covertly but unmistakably, pleased that her charms were appreciated.

They continued their rounds. The sun was very hot and the dust deep. A woman would have known that these things distressed Estrella. She picked her way through the debris; she dropped her head from the burning; she felt her delicate garments moistening with perspiration, her hair dampening; the dust sifted up through the air. Over in the large corral a bronco buster, assisted by two of the cowboys, was engaged in roping and throwing some wild mustangs. The sight was wonderful, but here the dust billowed in clouds.

“I’m getting a little hot and tired,” she confessed at last. “I think I’ll go to the house.”

But near the shed she stopped again, interested in spite of herself by a bit of repairing Tommy had under way. The tire of a wagon wheel had been destroyed. Tommy was mending it. On the ground lay a fresh cowhide. From this Tommy was cutting a wide strip. As she watched he measured the strip around the circumference of the wheel.

“He isn’t going to make a tire of that!” she exclaimed, incredulously.

“Sure,” replied Senor Johnson.

“Will it wear?”

“It’ll wear for a month or so, till we can get another from town.”

Estrella advanced and felt curiously of the rawhide. Tommy was fastening it to the wheel at the ends only.

“But how can it stay on that way?” she objected. “It’ll come right off as soon as you use it.”

“It’ll harden on tight enough.”

“Why?” she persisted. “Does it shrink much when it dries?”

Senor Johnson stared to see if she might be joking. “Does it shrink?” he repeated slowly. “There ain’t nothing shrinks more, nor harder. It’ll mighty nigh break that wood.”

Estrella, incredulous, interested, she could not have told why, stooped again to feel the soft, yielding hide. She shook her head.

“You’re joking me because I’m a tenderfoot,” she accused brightly. “I know it dries hard, and I’ll believe it shrinks a lot, but to break wood–that’s piling it on a little thick.”

“No, that’s right, ma’am,” broke in Brent Palmer. “It’s awful strong. It pulls like a horse when the desert sun gets on it. You wrap anything up in a piece of that hide and see what happens. Some time you take and wrap a piece around a potato and put her out in the sun and see how it’ll squeeze the water out of her.”