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Updated: May 31, 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.
Hopped away with broncs belongin' to you boys because they knew it'd be safe." "Picked easy marks, did they?" asked the puncher sardonically. The man with the razor tilted the chin of his customer and began to scrape. "Well, o'course you're only boys. They took advantage of that and done you a meanness." Dug Doble came into the shop, very grim about the mouth.
The two men had brought with them in addition to their own mounts a led pack-horse. Doble backed up his partner. "Sure are, Buck. I can get cowponies for ten and fifteen dollars all I want of 'em," he said, and contrived by the lift of his lip to make the remark offensive. "Not ponies like Chiquito," ventured Sanders amiably. "That so?" jeered Doble.
And don't reach for yore gun unless you want to hear the band begin to play a funeral piece." The words came, it seemed to Doble, out of the air. He looked up. Two great boulders lay edge to edge beside the path. Through a narrow rift the blue nose of a forty-five protruded. Back of it glittered a pair of steady, steely eyes. The foreman did not at all like the look of things.
"The little pinto sure is a wonder. Acts like he knows you mighty well." "Ought to. I trained him. Had him before Miller got him." "Bet you hated to sell him." "You know it." Dave moved forward to his end, the intention to get possession of the horse. He spoke in a voice easy and casual. "Saw Miller a while ago. They're talkin' about sellin' the paint hawss, him and his pardner Doble.
I reckon he won't do you any more meanness." "Who killed him?" "They ain't sayin'," returned the teamster cautiously. "Some folks was guessin' that mebbe Dug Doble could tell, but there ain't any evidence far's I know. Whoever it was robbed the safe." The old cattleman made no comment. From the days of their youth Steelman had been his bitter enemy, but death had closed the account between them.
He was expecting to see one of his friends from below. A stare of blank astonishment gave way to a leaping flicker of fear. The crook jumped to his feet, tugging at his gun. Before he could fire, the range-rider had closed with him. The plunging attack drove Doble back against the table, a flimsy, round-topped affair which gave way beneath this assault upon it. The two men went down in the wreck.
"Well, he's one tough scalawag, but I don't aim to give him away right now. Shorty is a whole lot better proposition than Dug Doble." Dave came back to the order of the day. "What do you want me to do now?" The cattleman looked him over. "You damaged much?" "No." "Burnt in the shoulder, I see." "Won't keep me from swinging a sack and bossing a gang." "Wore out, I reckon?"
The presence of the outlaw, if discovered, would bring him trouble; and Doble was so unruly he might out of sheer ennui or bravado let it be known he was there. "I'll get you the money first thing in the mornin'," promised Steelman. Doble poured himself a large drink and took it at a swallow. "I would, Brad." "No use you puttin' yoreself in unnecessary danger." "Or you. Don't hand me my hat, Brad.
"Will he hurt him?" asked Joyce quickly. "Can't tell. He'll try. That's a cinch." The dark brown eyes of the girl brooded. "That's not fair. We can't let him run into more danger for us, Dad. He's had enough trouble already. We must do something. Can't you send him to the Spring Valley Ranch?" "Meanin' Dug Doble?" asked Bob. She flashed a look of half-smiling, half-tender reproach at him.
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