What you got him all yanked in for?
D'you think the head-stall won't hold the bit in? Or ain't his mouth
cut back far enough to suit you? These horses is broke to be rode with
a loose rein. Give him his head an' he'll foller along."
A half-mile farther up the coulee, the Texan headed up a ravine that
led to the level of the bench, and urging his horse into a long
swinging trot, started for the mountains. Mile after mile they rode,
the cowboy's lips now and then drawing into their peculiar smile as,
out of the corner of his eye he watched the vain efforts of his
companion to maintain a firm seat in the saddle. "He's game, though,"
he muttered, grudgingly. "He rides like a busted wind-mill an' it must
be just tearin' hell out of him but he never squawks. An' the way he
took that hangin'---- If he'd be'n raised right he'd sure made some
tough hand. An' pilgrim or no pilgrim, the guts is there."
CHAPTER X
THE FLIGHT
When the Texan had departed Bat Lajune eyed the side-saddle with
disgust. "Dat damn t'ing, she ain' no good. A'm git de reg'lar
saddle."
Slowly he pushed open the side door of the hotel and paused in the
darkened hallway to stare at the crack of yellow light that showed
beneath the door of Number 11.
"A'm no lak' dis fool 'roun' wit' 'omen.
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