Yellowjacket is safe, but—but you have real live horses on the ranch, haven't you?
I seen how you piled onto old Yellowjacket and the way you held your reins.
Straightway she discovered that Yellowjacket had a mind of his own and that a pessimistic mind.
She went on, making Yellowjacket trot when he did not want to trot down hill.
And Yellowjacket was up that little gully just this side of the wreck, when I left him.
Yellowjacket's lower lip sagged with senility or lack of spirit, Lorraine could not tell which.
Yellowjacket, I may explain, owned a Roman nose, a pendulous lower lip and drooping eyelids.
It may have been Yellowjacket, turning his head sidewise and abruptly quickening his pace that warned her.
But she could not stop; Yellowjacket had his ears laid back flat on his senseless head, and the bit clamped tight in his teeth.
Lorraine thought longingly of Yellowjacket and his stubbornness and tried to devise some way of escape.