The other grinned. "Me, A'm no wan' no ticket. A'm lak A'm stay wit'
you, an' mebbe-so we git de job togedder."
The cowpuncher smoked for a time in silence.
"What was the rookus last night?" he asked, indifferently. Then,
suddenly, his eye fell upon the sorrel that snipped grass at the end of a
lariat rope near the picketed black, and he leaped to his feet. "Where'd
you get that horse?" he exclaimed sharply. "It's Fatty's! There's the
reins he busted when he snorted loose!"
Again the half-breed grinned. "A'm bor' dat hoss for com' 'long wit'
you. Dat Fatty, she damn bad man. She try for keel you w'en you tak' de
shot at de wheel. A'm com' 'long dat time an' A'm keek heem in de guts
an' he roll 'roun' on de floor, an' A'm t'row de bottle of wheesky an'
smash de beeg lamp an' we com' 'long out of dere." The cowpuncher tossed
his cigarette away and spat upon the ground.
"How'd you happen to come in there so handy just at the right time?" he
asked with a sidewise glance at the half-breed.
"Oh, A'm fol' you long tam'. A'm t'ink mebbe-so you git l'il too mooch
hooch an' som'one try for do you oop. A'm p'ek in de door an' seen Fatty
gon' shoot you. Dat mak' me mad lak hell, an' A'm run oop an' keek heem
so hard I kin on hees belly. You ma frien'. A'm no lak I seen you git
keel.
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