They watched him with a wolfish
eagerness. Why they should be so instantly hostile he could not guess
but he was enough of a traveller to be prepared for strange customs
in strange places. There was only one important point: he would not
saddle the buckskin. Moreover, at sight of their solid front and their
aggressive sneers he grew fighting hot.
"How gents come in these parts," he said with deliberate scorn, "I
dunno. And I don't care a damn. If they brush their foreman's boots
and saddle his hosses for him, they can go ahead and do it. But I
come up here to catch a wild hoss that the gents in the Valley of the
Eagles couldn't get. That's my job, and nothing else."
The growl of his cowpunchers was sweetest music to the ear of Lew
Hervey. He glanced at them as much as to say: "You see what I got on
my hands?" Then he stepped forward and cleared his throat.
"You're young, kid," he declared. "When you grow up you'll know
better'n to talk like this. But cowpunchers we ain't going to make no
trouble for you. But I'll tell you short, Perris, you'll go out and
rope that hoss or else roll your blankets and clear out. Understand?
I was joking when I asked you to rope the hoss first.
Pages:
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180