B. M. Bower

“ Her uncle glanced through the bars at the horses, and then down at her face. “Have you a bill of sale for them?” he wanted to know.
“Why, no. But they’re mine, just the same. No one ever rode them but me, after they were once broken; Burns broke them both for me.”
“So long as there are no papers to show otherwise, they belong to the estate. They are not cow-horses, and not needed here. A girl doesn’t need a string of horses like a cow-puncher. They will have to go, Lorena. Gentle horses are more marketable than any other.”
“But Uncle Howard, they are mine! ”

“ Reid was saying something about an auction of horses. Will it be necessary to sell any of them, Uncle Howard? I didn’t know there were any surplus horses.”
Her uncle frowned a bit, as if he did not approve of her inquisitiveness. “I don’t know of any great surplus of anything,” he said coldly, “unless it’s a surplus of debts and wasted opportunities. If it wasn’t necessary to sell horses I should scarcely be advertising such a sale. There are heavy expenses to be met—all this work of appraising remains to be paid for, and very little ready money to meet it.” ”

“ You know very well, Lorena Mehitabel Burkell, that you climbed the fence and hollered like the dickens till Burns went and chased him away. A turkey-gobbler, huh! But that’s all the rescuing I know about. Maybe,” he added maliciously, “it’s because Lorrie ain’t beautiful.”
“That,” said Reid tentatively, not daring to look at Lorrie, “might be a matter of opinion. You might not be a good judge. What did the fellow do then?” It seemed to him unwise to pursue the discussion farther at that stage of his acquaintance with Lorrie.
“That’s the part we’re coming to,” replied Skookum. ”