In the center of the
brow of this long bench lay a huge, flat rock which had been Bostil's seat in
the watching of many a race. Here were assembled his neighbors and visitors
actively interested in the races, and also the important Indians of both
tribes, all waiting for him.
As Bostil dismounted, throwing the bridle to a rider, he saw a face that
suddenly froze the thrilling delight of the moment. A tall, gaunt man with
cavernous black eyes and huge, drooping black mustache fronted him and seemed
waiting. Cordts! Bostil had forgotten. Instinctively Bostil stood on guard.
For years he had prepared himself for the moment when he would come face to
face with this noted horse-thief.
"Bostil, how are you?" said Cordts. He appeared pleasant, and certainly
grateful for being permitted to come there. From his left hand hung a belt
containing two heavy guns.
"Hello, Cordts," replied Bostil, slowly unbending. Then he met the other's
proffered hand.
"I've bet heavy on the King," said Cordts.
For the moment there could have been no other way to Bostil's good graces, and
this remark made the gruff old rider's hard face relax.
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