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If it'd been an ornery hoss, now.... Moore, how'd this happen?" "We just rode in," replied Wilson, hurriedly. "I was saddling Spottie when Jack came up. He took a shine to the mustang and wanted to ride him. When Spottie reared he's shy with strangers why, Jack gave a hell of a jerk on the bridle. The bit cut Spottie.... Well, that made me mad, but I held in. I objected to Jack riding Spottie.
Whereupon Belllounds turned to Moore with a gesture and a look of a man who, in justice to something in himself, had to speak. "Wils, it's onlucky you clashed with Jack right off," he said. "But thet was to be expected. I reckon Jack was in the wrong. Thet hoss was yours by all a cowboy holds right an' square. Mebbe by law Spottie belonged to White Slides Ranch to me.
It fell sort of flat, that remark. But no one could calculate on his infernal cunnin'. I quit workin' for Belllounds that night, an' I've put my time in spyin' on the boy. In my day I've done a good deal of spyin', but I've never run across any one slicker than Buster Jack. To cut it short he got himself a white-speckled mustang that's a dead ringer for Spottie.
You see, Hudson was hurt yesterday and he appointed me foreman for to-day. I needed Spottie. But your son couldn't see it, and that made me sore. Jack said the mustang was his " "His?" interrupted Belllounds. "Yes. He claimed Spottie. Well, he wasn't really mine, so I gave in. When I threw off the saddle, which was mine, Jack began to roar. He said he was foreman and he'd have me discharged.
Spottie came down, and stood there, trembling all over, his ears laid back, his eyes showing fright and pain. Blood dripped from his mouth where the bit had cut him. "I'll teach you to stand," said Belllounds, darkly. "Moore, lend me your spurs. I want to try him out." "I don't lend my spurs or my horse, either," replied the cowboy, quietly, with a stride that put him within reach of Spottie.
If they had not been put there by Wilson Moore's white mustang, Spottie, then they had been made by a horse with a strangely similar hoof and shoe. Spottie had a hoof malformed, somewhat in the shape of a triangle, and the iron shoe to fit it always had to be bent, so that the curve was sharp and the ends closer together than those of his other shoes.
"Moore, he's a fair-to-middling horse," said Belllounds, with the air of judge of horseflesh. "What's his name?" "Spottie," replied Moore, shortly, as he made ready to mount. "Hold on, will you!" ordered Jack, peremptorily. "I like this horse. I want to look him over." When he grasped the bridle-reins out of the cowboy's hand Spottie jumped as if he had been shot at.
Belllounds lounged forward with interest as Moore whistled, and the mustang showed his pleasure. Manifestly he did not like the Mexican boy and he did like Moore. "Spottie, it's drag yearlings around for you to-day," said the cowboy, as he caught the mustang. Spottie tossed his head and stepped high until the bridle was on.
Wade rode down to White Slides that day, and at the evening meal he casually asked Moore if he had been riding Spottie of late. "Sure. What other horse could I ride? Do you think I'm up to trying one of those broncs?" asked Moore, in derision. "Reckon you haven't been leavin' any tracks up Buffalo Park way?" The cowboy slammed down his knife. "Say, Wade, are you growing dotty?
But "Brindle and Spottie were wise-like beasts, with mair sense and discretion than some folk that she could name," and many a child in Merleville got less care than she bestowed on them.
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