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We've been doin' pretty good. Hardman an' Wiggate pay twelve dollars an' four bits a hoss on the hoof. Right heah in Marco. We could get more if we could risk shippin' to St. Louis. But thet's a hell of a job. Long ways to the railroad, an' say, mebbe drivin' them broomies isn't tough! Then two of us anyhow would have to go on the freight train with the hosses.
"It's pretty plain English," replied Wiggate, manifestly concerned. "And here's some more. Jard Hardman was a horse thief," went on Pan in rising passion. "He was a low-down yellow horse thief. He hired men to steal for him. And by God, he wasn't half as white as the outlaw who killed him!" "Outlaw? I declare we I Do you mean you're an " floundered Wiggate. "We understood you killed Hardman."
Dad wasn't loco. No wonder he raved.... Blink, is there any mistake?" "What about?" "The market for wild horses." "Absolutely, no," declared Blinky vehemently. "It's new. Only started last summer. Wiggate made money. He said so. Thet's what fetched the Hardmans nosin' into the game. Mebbe this summer will kill the bizness, but right now we're safe.
"It's Wiggate, son," corroborated Pan's father. "I met him once. He's a broad heavy man with a thin gray chin beard. That's him." "Aw, hell!" exclaimed Blinky, regretfully. "There won't be any fight after all." The approaching horsemen halted within earshot. "Hi, there, camp," called the leader, whose appearance tallied with Smith's description. "Hello," replied Pan, striding out.
"Word come to me this morning that you'd trapped a large number of horses," went on Wiggate. "I see that's a fact. It's a wonderful sight. Of course you expect to make a deal for them?" "Yes. No trading. No percentage. I want cash. They're a shade better stock than you've been buying around Marco. Better grass here, and they've not been chased lean." "How many?" "I don't know.
"Who's boss here?" "Reckon I am." "My name's Wiggate," replied the other loudly. "All right, Mr. Wiggate," returned Pan just as loud voiced. "What's your business?" "Friendly. Give my word. I want to talk horses." "Come on up, then." Whereupon the group of horsemen advanced, and presently rode in under the trees into camp.
Fer shore they've been told thet." "No. Wiggate can do the telling. All I want is to find Lucy and send her back home, then buy our outfit and rustle." "Sounds pretty. But I begin to feel hunchy myself. Let's have a drink, Pan." "We're not drinking, cowboy," retorted Pan. "Ain't we? Excuse me. Shore I figgered a good stiff drink would help some. I tell you I've begun to get hunches." "What kind?"
Pan's eyes dimmed, and for a moment he was not quite sure of himself. Later he mingled again with the men round the campfire. Some of the restraint had disappeared, at least in regard to Wiggate and his men toward everybody except Pan. That nettled him and at an opportune moment he confronted the horse buyer. "How'd you learn about this drive of ours?" he asked, briefly.
"If I'm not inquisitive in asking would you mind telling me, do you mean to meet Matthews and young Hardman?" inquired Wiggate, hesitatingly. "I'll avoid them if possible," rejoined Pan. "Dad and I will get out of Marco pretty pronto. We're going to Arizona and homestead." "That's sensible. You'll have money enough to start ranching. I wish you luck. I shall make this my last horse deal out here.
"Well, I wouldn't be in any hurry, if I were you," said the horse dealer, bluntly. "What do you mean?" queried Pan. "Young Hardman is to be reckoned with." "Bah!" burst out Pan in a scorn that was rude, though he meant it for Hardman. "That pop-eyed skunk! What do I care for him?" "Excuse me, I would not presume to advise you," returned Wiggate stiffly. "Aw, I beg your pardon, Mr.
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