Those were Gwen's first "prayers," and in them Gwen's part was small,
for fear and wonder filled her heart; but the day was to come, and all
too soon, when she should have to pour out her soul with strong crying
and tears. That day came and passed, but the story of it is not to be
told here.
CHAPTER XI
GWEN'S CHALLENGE
Gwen was undoubtedly wild and, as The Sky Pilot said, wilful and wicked.
Even Bronco Bill and Hi Kendal would say so, without, of course, abating
one jot of their admiration for her. For fourteen years she had lived
chiefly with wild things. The cattle on the range, wild as deer, the
coyotes, the jack-rabbits and the timber wolves were her mates and her
instructors. From these she learned her wild ways. The rolling prairie
of the Foothill country was her home. She loved it and all things that
moved upon it with passionate love, the only kind she was capable of.
And all summer long she spent her days riding up and down the range
alone, or with her father, or with Joe, or, best of all, with The
Duke, her hero and her friend. So she grew up strong, wholesome and
self-reliant, fearing nothing alive and as untamed as a yearling range
colt.
She was not beautiful. The winds and sun had left her no complexion to
speak of, but the glory of her red hair, gold-red, with purple sheen,
nothing could tarnish.
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