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Well I found the little pie-eater in Denver O K but so gaunt he wont hardly throw a shadow and what can you expect of scalawags like Miller and Doble who don't know how to treat a horse. Well I run Chiquito off right under their noses and we had a little gun play and made my getaway and I reckon I will stay a spell and work here.
Doble had heard the story of what Dave and Bob had done for Crawford and of how the wounded boy had been taken to the cattleman's home and nursed there. It pleased him now to score off what he chose to think was the soft-headedness of his chief. The cattleman showed interest. "That so, Dug? Sorry. I took a fancy to that boy. What did he do?"
You've been running with a mighty bad pardner." "Have I?" asked the rustler blandly. "Did I say anything about a pardner?" His eye fell on the three still figures lying on the hillside in a row. Not a twitching muscle in his face showed what he was thinking, that they might have been full of splendid life and vigor if Dug Doble had not put a match to the chaparral back of Bear Cañon.
"Yes," agreed Bob. "Wish I could hire you to throw a monkey wrench in that engine over there. Its chuggin' keeps me awake." "I'll bet it does. Well, young fellow, you can't hire me or anybody else to stop it," retorted Doble, an edge to his voice. "Well, I just mentioned it," murmured Hart. "I don't aim to rile yore feelin's.
Tom contended that Bud Doble, the debonair, the dramatic, the handsome, was the greatest of all race horse drivers, and Jim Priest held Bud Doble in contempt. For him there was but one man of all the drivers he whole-heartedly admired, Pop Geers, the shrewd and silent. "That Geers of yours doesn't drive at all. He just sits up there like a stick," Tom grumbled.
You brought the brat here without orders. Now take him home again," directed Doble harshly. Otero protested fluently, with gestures eloquent. He had not yet been paid for his services. By this time Malapi might be too hot for him. He did not intend ever to go back. He was leaving the country pronto muy pronto. The boy could go back when his sister went. "His sister's not going back.
He might as well have saved his breath, for his captors paid not the least attention to his spleen. Weak as a drowned rat, Doble came limping out of the ravine. He sat down on a timber, very sick at the stomach from too much water swallowed in haste. After he had relieved himself, he looked up wanly and recognized Hart, who was searching him for a hidden six-shooter.
Her resolute little face was aglow and eager. "It's time Malapi was civilized. We mustn't give these bad men provocation. It's better to avoid them." "Yes," admitted Bob dryly. "Well, you tell all that to Dave. Maybe he's the kind o' lad that will pack up and light out because he's afraid of Dug Doble and his outfit. Then again maybe he ain't." Crawford shook his head. He was a game man himself.
At last he and Dave Sanders would settle accounts. One of them would be carried out of the valley feet first. Sanders leaped to the ground at the same instant that he pulled Chiquito up. The horse was between him and his enemy. The eyes of the men crossed in a long, level look. "Where's Joyce Crawford?" asked Dave. "That yore business?" Doble added to his retort the insult unmentionable.
She dodged round a tree, doubled on her course, then deflected toward the corral. Swift and supple though she was, his long strides brought him closer. Again she screamed. Doble caught her. She fought in his arms, a prey to wild and unreasoning terror. "You young hell-cat, I'm not gonna hurt you," he said. "What's the use o' actin' crazy?"
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