I would but fer scarin' this
hoss. If you yap again I'll KILL YOU, anyhow, an' take a chance!"
All the terrible hate and evil and cruelty and deadliness of his kind burned
in his eyes and stung in his voice.
"Sears, if it's my horse you want you needn't kill Bostil," spoke up Slone.
The contrast of his cool, quiet voice eased the terrible strain.
"Lead him round hyar!" snapped Sears.
Wildfire appeared more shy of the horses back of him than of the men. Slone
was able to lead him, however, to within several paces of Sears. Then Slone
dropped the reins. He still held a lasso which was loosely coiled, and the
loop dropped in front of him as he backed away.
Sears sheathed the left-hand gun. Keeping the group covered with the other, he
moved backward, reaching for the hanging reins. Wildfire snorted, appeared
about to jump. But Sears got the reins. Bostil, standing like a stone, his
companions also motionless, could not help but admire the daring of this
upland horse-thief. How was he to mount that wild stallion? Sears was noted
for two qualities--his nerve before men and his skill with horses.
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