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"You're skin an' bones at thet."
"Mebbe you'll need to work a little off, Van. Some one said Creech's Blue Roan
was comin' fast this year."
"Bill, your mind ain't operatin'," replied Van, scornfully. "Didn't I beat
Creech's hosses last year without the King turnin' a hair?"
"Not if I recollect, you didn't. The Blue Roan wasn't runnin'."
Then they argued, after the manner of friendly riders, but all earnest, an
eloquent in their convictions. The prevailing opinion was that Creech's horse
had a chance, depending upon condition and luck.
The argument shifted upon the arrival of two new-comers, leading mustangs and
apparently talking trade. It was manifest that these arrivals were not loath
to get the opinions of others.
"Van, there's a hoss!" exclaimed one.
"No, he ain't," replied Van.
And that diverse judgment appeared to be characteristic throughout. The
strange thing was that Macomber, the rancher, had already traded his mustang
and money to boot for the sorrel. The deal, whether wise or not, had been
consummated.


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