An' if he don't show up pretty damn _pronto_ he
kin stay lost--an' the K 2 will win, at that."
The Texan grinned: "Go get your mares, Curt. The short-horn has
stampeded. I shouldn't wonder if he's a-foggin' it through the
mountains right now to get himself plumb famous for tippin' off the
district attorney where to do his minin'."
"You seen him!"
"Yes, we had quite a little pow-wow."
"You sure didn't let him git holt of nothin'!"
"Yes. He's about to bust with the information he gathered. An' say,
he might of seen them mares an' passed 'em up. He ain't huntin' no
brood mares, he's after twenty head of young saddle stock--forgot to
mention there was any one with him. Said it was easy to run
three-year-olds off their own range single handed if you savvied
horses. Called Mister Kester 'Old Pete' an' told of an orgy they had
mutual in the Long Horn."
Curt burst out laughing: "Can you beat it?"
"I suppose they'll have Red Rock Coulee all mussed up," reflected the
Texan, with a grin.
"You wait 'til I tell the boys."
"Don't you. They'd hurt him. He's a-whirlin' a bigger loop than he
can throw, the way it is."
Curt fumbled in his slicker and produced a flask which he tendered.
Tex shook his head: "No thanks, I ain't drinkin'."
"You ain't _what_?"
"No, I'm off of it"; he dismounted and tightened his cinch, and the
other followed his example.
Pages:
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257