“I found a good horse in a corral in Thirs Street; black, with white fetlocks, slender and well made, and with quite a good canter.  How different everything is from the standpoint of a middle-aged woman.  In the old days, when I might be starting on horse-back from some hotel, half the establishment would turn out to see me mount, while waiters would be running about with chairs; now I simply went to the corral, fetched the horse myself and hitched him up outside the Arizona Hotel, while I brought down my saddle and saddled him up myself, not a man standing by offering to lend me the slightest assistance or apparently taking the slightest notice of my proceedings; and when he was saddled I would promptly mount and ride away, nobody troubling themselves about me.  I must own I found this way much more to my liking, for if there is a thing I hate, it is being fussed over.  I enjoyed long rides into the desert.”

-Margaret Fountaine