"If we got along--wal, you'd save some of thet yellow coin
you're jinglin'. A roamin' rider never builds no corral!"
"Thank you, Bostil," replied Slone, earnestly. "I'll think it over. It would
seem kind of tame now to go back to wild-horse wranglin', after I've caught
Wildfire. I'll think it over. Maybe I'll do it, if you're sure I'm good enough
with rope an' horse."
"Wal, by Gawd!" blurted out Bostil. "Holley says he'd rather you throwed a gun
on him than a rope! So would I. An' as for your handlin' a hoss, I never seen
no better."
Slone appeared embarrassed and kept studying the gold coins in his palm. Some
one touched Bostil, who, turning, saw Brackton at his elbow. The other men
were now bantering with the Indians.
"Come now while I've got a minnit," said Brackton, taking up a lantern. "I've
somethin' to show you."
Bostil followed Brackton, and Slone came along. The old man opened a door into
a small room, half full of stores and track. The lantern only dimly lighted
the place.
"Look thar!" And Brackton flashed the light upon a man lying prostrate.
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