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"Me, I wisht we c'd git hold of some of them bronks they're bustin' now at the ranch. Tex was tellin' me they's shore some good ones." "What's the good of wishin'?" a man behind him growled. "We ain't doing so worse." "No but broke hosses beats broomtails. Ain't no harm in wishin' they'd turn loose and bust some for us; save us that much work."
What things?" queried Moran. "Why, those long shiny things that jingle when you walk." "Haw! Haw! ... Say, Pan, I might ask you the same. What you travel with them spurs on your boots fer?" "I tried traveling without them, but I couldn't feel that I was moving." "Wal, by gum, I been needin' mine. Ask Gus there. We've been wranglin' wild hosses. Broomtails they calls them heah.
You've got to know the tricks. I learned a heap from a Mormon wild-horse wrangler. If these broomtails are thick here well, I don't want to set your hopes too high. But wait till I show you." "Pan, there's ten thousand wild horses in that one valley across the mountain there. Hot Springs Valley they call it." "Then, by George, we've got to take the risk," declared Pan decisively. "Risk of what?"
We'll both keep our eyes open today so we can't be surprised by anybody." Pan's father approached briskly, his face shining. He was indeed a different man. "Boys, are we goin' to loaf round camp all day?" "No, Dad, we're going to rope the best of the broomtails. I'll get a chance to see you sling a lasso." "Say, I'd tackle it at that," laughed his father.
Climbing it was difficult. "When we ketch the wild hosses we can drive them down the valley an' round to the road," said Blinky, evidently by way of excuse. "It'll be longer, but easy travelin'. Shore we couldn't drive any broomtails heah." The summit of this ridge was covered with piñons and cedars, growing in heavy clumps around outcropping of ledges.
The Mexicans call them Arenajos. These wild hosses haven't been worth ketchin' until lately. Most all broomtails. But now an' then you shore see a bunch of dandy mustangs, with a high-steppin' stallion." "Ah, now, cowboy, you're talking," declared Pan. "You're singing to me. It'll be darn hard for me to sell horses like that." "Pard, I reckon we won't sell 'em," replied Blinky.
"It's a big place, and we've got a big job on our hands," he remarked. "While you was gone a band of two hundred or more run right under me, comin' from this side," replied Smith with beaming face. "Broomtails an' willowtails they may be, as those boys call them, but I'll tell you, son, some of them are mighty fine stock. The leader of this bunch had a brand on his flank.
"Regular lot of broomtails," yelled Blinky to Pan. "Ain't seen any yet I'd give two bits fer. Reckon, as always, the good hosses got away." But Pan inclined to the opinion that among so many there were surely a few fine animals. And so it proved. Pan's first choice was a blue roan, a rare combination of color, build and speed. The horse was a mare and had a good head.
I ain't one of them that believes the good Lord made human laigs to be walked on, not so long as any broomtails are left to straddle." Screened by the heavy mesquite below, Sanders unfolded his proposed plan of operations. Bob listened, and as Dave talked there came into Hart's eyes dancing imps of deviltry.
They were ragged and motley, altogether a score or more of the broomtails that had earned that unflattering epithet. They had no leader and showed it in their indecision. They were as wild as jack rabbits, and upon sighting Pan they wheeled in their tracks and fled like the wind, down the valley. Pan saw them turn a larger darker-colored herd. This feature was what he had mainly relied upon.
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