Bostil was amused and pleased, and back of both amusement and pleasure was the
old inventive, driving passion to gain his own ends.
Bostil was abnormally generous in many ways; monstrously selfish in one way.
"Slone, I seen you didn't drink none," he said, curiously.
"No; I don't like liquor."
"Do you gamble?"
"I like a little bet--on a race," replied Slone, frankly.
"Wal, thet ain't gamblin'. These fool riders of mine will bet on the switchin'
of a hoss's tail." He drew Slone a little aside from the others, who were
interested in Brackton's delivery of the different prizes. "Slone, how'd you
like to ride for me?"
Slone appeared surprised. "Why, I never rode for any one," he replied, slowly.
"I can't stand to be tied down. I'm a horse-hunter, you know."
Bostil eyed the young man, wondering what he knew about the difficulties of
the job offered. It was no news to Bostil that he was at once the best and the
worst man to ride for in all the uplands.
"Sure, I know. But thet doesn't make no difference," went on Bostil,
persuasively.
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