"Wal, I was hopin' you'd back some other hoss, so I could take your money,"
replied Bostil.
Cordts held out the belt and guns to Bostil. "I want to enjoy this race," he
said, with a smile that somehow hinted of the years he had packed those guns
day and night.
"Cordts, I don't want to take your guns," replied Bostil, bluntly. "I've taken
your word an' that's enough."
"Thanks, Bostil. All the same, as I'm your guest I won't pack them," returned
Cordts, and he hung the belt on the horn of Bostil's saddle. "Some of my men
are with me. They were all right till they got outside of Brackton's whisky.
But now I won't answer for them."
"Wal, you're square to say thet," replied Bostil. "An' I'll run this race an'
answer for everybody."
Bostil recognized Hutchinson and Dick Sears, but the others of Cordts's gang
he did not know. They were a hard-looking lot. Hutchinson was a spare,
stoop-shouldered, red-faced, squinty-eyed rider, branded all over with the
marks of a bad man. And Dick Sears looked his notoriety.
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