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Updated: May 25, 2025
Bud was beginning to discount the vague warnings he had received. Unless something definite came within his knowledge he would go about his business exactly as if Burroback Valley were a church-going community. He would not "drift." But after all he did not go to the dance with Honey, or with anyone.
The talk was carried enthusiastically to the dinner table, where Bud ignored the scowling proximity of Lew and repeated his boasts in a revised form as an indirect means of letting Marian know that he meant to play the Burroback game in the Burroback way or as nearly as he could and keep his honesty more or less intact. He did not think she would approve, but he wanted her to know.
More'n likely it's Dave." "Dave went up Burroback Valley," Jerry stated flatly. "Him and the boys wasn't on this side the ridge. They had it sized up that Bud might go from Crater straight across into Black Rim, and they rode up to catch him as he comes back across." Jerry grinned a little. "They wanted that money you peeled off the crowd Sunday, Bud.
Bart knew the range, and he knew every man in the country, from Burroback Valley, which was this great valley's name, to the Black Rim, beyond the mountain range, and beyond the Black Rim to the Sawtooth country. He knew their ways and he knew their past records. He knew that this young fellow came from farther ranges, and he would have been at a loss to explain just how he knew it.
An' you got the fastest horse in Burroback Valley and I don't know what I got under me. I'm seventy years old come September when I'm afoot. Are ye afraid to bet?" "I'm scared a dollar's worth that I'll never see you again to-day unless I ride back to find you," Bud grinned. "Any time you lose ole Pop Truman shucks almighty! Come on, then I'll show ye the way to the quarter-post!"
But though several quart bottles were passed around during the night and thrown away empty into the bushes, the men went in and danced and came out again immediately to converse confidentially in small groups, or to smoke without much speech. The men of Burroback Valley were not running true to form.
In his month at the Muleshoe he had gained a very fair general idea of the extent and resources of Burroback Valley, but he had not made any acquaintances and he did not know just where to go for his next job. So for want of something better, he rode down to the little stream which he now knew was called One Creek, and prepared to spend the night there.
That's all right if you want the risk but did it ever occur to you that if all the coin in the neighborhood is collected in one man's pocket, there'll be about as many fellows as there are losers, that will lay awake till sun-up figuring how to heel him and ride off with the roll? I ain't over-stocked with courage, myself. I'd rather be broke in Burroback Valley than owner of wealth.
In the morning he would make a fresh start and because of the streak of stubbornness he had, he meant to make it in Burroback Valley, under the very nose of the Muleshoe outfit. Little Lost somehow the name appealed to Bud, whose instinct for harmony extended to words and phrases and, for that matter, to everything in the world that was beautiful.
Eddie did not say anything, but veered to the right, climbing higher on the slope than Bud would have gone. "We can take the high trail," he volunteered when they stopped to rest the horses. "It takes up over the summit and down Burroback Valley. It's longer, but the stage road edges along the Sinks and it might be rough going, after we get down a piece."
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