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Updated: May 23, 2025
Later that evening, Sundown straggled out to the corral and stood watching the saddle-stock of the Concho pull hay from the long feed-rack and munch lazily. Suddenly he jerked up his hand and jumped round. The men, loafing in front of the bunk-house, laughed. Chance, the great wolf-dog, was critically inspecting the tramp's legs. Sundown was a self-confessed coward, physically.
At the same instant a coyote trotted leisurely out from under the lee of the sand drift and, with a side glance over his shoulder at the banker, slipped around the point of the next low ridge. The man knew that to catch his horse would be impossible. The animal would not stop until he reached his companions at the feed-rack in camp.
"What d'you think you're doing, fellow?" The cowpuncher sat down on a feed-rack and laughed till he was weak. "Drinks are on me, son," he gasped at last. "I 'most fed you to my hawss." "Mebbe you think because I ain't as big as a house you can sit there an' laugh at me. I'll have you know you can't," the boy snapped. "Fellow, I'm not laughin' at you. Napoleon was a runt, I've heard tell.
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