She discovered, on a neighbor's
porch, and with admirable socialistic tendencies appropriated, a
glaring poster, with slim-legged horses balancing themselves in the
air, not at all inconveniencing their sunburned riders in varicolored
silk shirts.
"Look at the horses jump over the moon," she exulted, kissing a scarlet
shirt in rapture.
Upon investigation it turned out to be an irresistible advertisement of
the annual Frontier Days, at Fort Morgan. Carol explained the pictures
to Julia, while Connie looked over her shoulder.
"Do they do all it says?" she asked.
Carol did not know. She had never attended any Frontier Days, but she
imagined they were even more wonderful than the quite impossible
poster. Carol's early determination to adore the Westland had become
fixed habit at last. It was capable of any miracles, to her.
"How far is it up there?" pursued Connie, for Connie had a very
inartistic way of sticking to her subject.
"I do not know. About a hundred miles, I believe."
"A nice drive for the Harmer," said Connie thoughtfully. "How are the
roads?"
"I do not know, but I think all the roads are good in Colorado.
Certainly no road is impassable for a Harmer Six with you at the wheel.
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