"Howdy, Slone," drawled Cordts, with hand outstretched. "I sure am glad to
meet yuh. I'd like to trade the Sage King for this red stallion!"
A roar of laughter greeted this sally, all but Bostil and Slone joining in.
The joke was on Bostil, and he showed it. Slone did not even smile.
"Howdy, Cordts," he replied. "I'm glad to meet you--so I'll know you when I
see you again."
"Wal, we're all good fellers to-day," interposed Bostil. "An' now let's ride
home an' eat. Slone, you come with me."
The group slowly mounted the slope where the horses waited. Macomber,
Wetherby, Burthwait, Blinn--all Bostil's friends proffered their felicitations
to the young rider, and all were evidently prepossessed with him.
The sun was low in the west; purple shades were blotting out the gold lights
down the valley; the day of the great races was almost done. Indians were
still scattered here and there in groups; others were turning out the
mustangs; and the majority were riding and walking with the crowd toward the
village.
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