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"Oh, I'm only goin' to Denver," responded Pie. "Purty hot," suggested Red. "She shore is. Seen anybody yu knows?" Pie asked. "One or two Billy of th' Star Crescent an' Panhandle Lukins," answered Buck. "That so? Panhandle's goin' to punch for us next year. I'll hunt him up. I heard down south of Albuquerque that Thirsty Jones an' his brothers are lookin' for trouble," offered Pie. "Yah!
"He tell everybody in that place that you turn the good trick and then throw him hard." "Either you're lyin', or Panhandle's crazy." Sneed turned and called to his men, a few paces off. They rode up on tired horses. "What do you say, boys? Panhandle is talkin', over there in Phoenix. Posmo, here, says Panhandle is talkin' about us. Now nobody's got a thing on us.
Then, without further comment, he left the marshal wondering if Panhandle's presence in town had any connection with the recent running-off of the Box-S stock. The sheriff of Antelope had wired Colonel Stevenson to be on the lookout for Bill Sneed and his gang, but had not mentioned Panhandle's name in the telegram.
"And win," murmured Wishful. Panhandle whirled and confronted Wishful. "I don't see any of your money on the table," he snarled. "I'll come in on the next game," stated Wishful mildly. Panhandle's last dollar was on the table. He reached forward and drew a handful of bills from the pile and counted them. "Fifty," he said; "fifty against the pot that you don't make your next throw."
Bartley did not know just what was on the boards, aside from dice and money, but he took Wishful's hint and moved around to Panhandle's side of the table, leaving Cheyenne facing his competitor alone. Bartley happened to catch Cheyenne's eye. The happy-go-lucky expression was gone. Cheyenne's face seemed troubled, yet he played with his former vigor and luck.
Many a day the sun was obscured, and nothing could be cooked, no work done while the dust storm raged. As spring advanced, with a lessening of the tornadoes, a new and fascinating game came into Panhandle's life. It was to sit at the one little window and watch the cowboys ride by. How he came to worship them! They were on their way to the spring roundups. His father had told him all about them.
"Six?" exclaimed Bartley. "The three shots went clean through both sides," said Lon. Cheyenne reloaded his gun and dropped it into the holster. Later, Bartley had a talk with Cheyenne about the proposed trailing of the stolen horses. Panhandle's name was mentioned. And the name of another man Sneed. Cheyenne seemed to know just where he would look, and whom he might expect to meet.
At first the nearest neighbor was Panhandle's uncle, who lived two long prairie miles away. His house was a black dot on the horizon, not unattainable, it seemed to Panhandle, but very far away. He would have risked the distance, save for his mother, who was very timid in this country so new to her.
Despite the mother's protestations, Bill insisted on calling the lad Panhandle. Panhandle's first memory was of climbing into the big cupboard in the cabin, falling out upon his head and getting blood all over his white dress. His next adventurous experience was that of chewing tobacco he found in his father's coat. This made him very sick.
Them hoss-thieves figure to hit into the White Hills and cut down through the Apache forest, most like." "Will they sell the horses?" "Yes. Or trade 'em for whiskey. Panhandle's got friends up in them hills." "How far is it to the ranch?" queried Bartley. "We done reached her. We're on Steve's ranch, right now. It's about five miles from that first fence over there to his house, by trail.
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