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Updated: May 29, 2025
I got fifty dollars more to back the pack-horse. How about it, Sanders? You got the sand to cover that? Or are you plumb scared of my broomtail?" "Betcha a month's pay thirty-five dollars. Give you an order on the boss if I lose," retorted Dave. He had not meant to bet, but he could not stand this fellow's insolent manner. "That order good, Dug?" asked Doble of his half-brother.
The taunt, thrown in Hardman's face, added to the tension of the moment. He had lost the ruddy color under his beard. His eyes stood out. He recognized at last something beyond his power to change or stop. "Smith, reckon you've cause for temper," he said, huskily. "I'll take half the hosses an' buy your half." "No! Not one damn broomtail do you get," returned Pan in a voice that cut.
"You know the horses that the boys claim. Well, take Thursday to the remuda an' help him pick a mount from the extras in place of that broomtail he's ridin'," continued the drover. "Look alive now. I don't want my cattle stampeded because we haven't got sense enough to protect 'em. No 'Paches can touch a hoof of my stock if I can help it."
I'll tell you now that broomtail never had a chance to beat Whiskey Bill." "Yore hoss can run, seh," admitted Dave. "I know it, but you don't. He didn't have to take the kinks out of his legs to beat that plug." "You get our money," said Hart quietly. "Ain't that enough without rubbin' it in?" "Sure I get yore money easy money, at that," boasted Doble.
"I reckon George will have to ride the broomtail. We don't aim to break its back," replied Miller genially. His partner was a short man with a spare, wiry body. Few men trusted him after a glance at the mutilated face. The thin, hard lips gave warning that he had sold himself to evil. The low forehead, above which the hair was plastered flat in an arc, advertised low mentality.
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