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He would have a man to face a man whom repute called just, but stern. Before Slone reached the vicinity of the store he saw riders come out to meet the Creech party. It so happened there were more riders than usually frequented Brackton's at that hour. The old storekeeper came stumbling out and raised his hands. The riders could be heard, loud-voiced and excited.
They were all right till they got outside of Brackton's whisky. But now I won't answer for them." "Wal, you're square to say thet," replied Bostil. "An' I'll run this race an' answer for everybody." Bostil recognized Hutchinson and Dick Sears, but the others of Cordts's gang he did not know. They were a hard-looking lot.
Many were the riders and Indians who owed much to him. So everywhere he was hailed and besieged, until finally the old excitement of betting and bantering took hold of him and he forgot his brooding. Brackton's place, as always, was a headquarters for all visitors. Macomber had just come in full of enthusiasm and pride over the horse he had entered, and he had money to wager.
"See hyar, Bostil," spoke up old Cal Blinn, "you jest wait till I git an eye on the King's runnin'. Mebbe I'll go you even money." "An' as fer me, Bostil," said Colson, "I ain't set up yit which hoss I'll race." Burthwait, an old rider, came forward to Brackton's desk and entered a wager against the field that made all the men gasp.
Yet he believed just this had happened. How strange he had never considered such an event as the return of Creech. "I'd better look him up before he looks me," said Slone. It took but an instant to strap on his belt and gun. Then Slone strode down his path, out into the lane toward Brackton's. Whatever before boded ill to Slone had been nothing to what menaced him now.
And then, from these men, horses received the meed due them, and the love they were truly worth. The Navajo was a nomad horseman, an Arab of the Painted Desert, and the Ute Indian was close to him. It was they who developed the white riders of the uplands as well as the wild-horse wrangler or hunter. Brackton's ramshackle establishment stood down at the end of the village street.
A later incident earned more of Slone's attention. He had observed a man in Brackton's store, and it chanced that this man heard Slone's reply to Brackton's offer, and he said: "You'll sure need to corral thet red stallion. Grandest hoss I ever seen!" That praise won Slone, and he engaged in conversation with the man, who said his name was Vorhees.
The spell of those looming grand shafts of colored rock was still strong upon him. One morning Slone had a visitor old Brackton. Slone's cordiality died on his lips before it was half uttered. Brackton's former friendliness was not in evidence. Indeed, he looked at Slone with curiosity and disfavor. "Howdy, Slone! I jest wanted to see what you was doin' up hyar," he said.
Bostil strode out of the room and the house. He went through the grove and directly up the path to Slone's cabin. It was empty, just as Bostil expected to find it. The bars of the corral were down. Both Slone's horses were gone. Presently Bostil saw the black horse Nagger down in Brackton's pasture. There were riders in front of Brackton's.
"Wal, thet ain't gamblin'. These fool riders of mine will bet on the switchin' of a hoss's tail." He drew Slone a little aside from the others, who were interested in Brackton's delivery of the different prizes. "Slone, how'd you like to ride for me?" Slone appeared surprised. "Why, I never rode for any one," he replied, slowly. "I can't stand to be tied down. I'm a horse-hunter, you know."
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