"I do. He's a Starr horse. He was turned out account of goin' lame. Hop
along. I'll take care of him."

The man plodded across the sand. Lorry followed on Gray Leg, and led the
other horse. Flares of noon heat shot up from the reddish-gray levels.
Lorry whistled, outwardly serene, but inwardly perturbed. That girl had
asked him to let the man go and she had said "please." But, like all
women, she didn't understand such things.

They approached a low ridge and worked up a winding cattle trail. On the
crest Lorry reined up. The man sat down, breathing heavily.

"What you callin' yourself?" asked Lorry.

"A dam' fool."

"I knew that. Anything else?"

"Waco--mebby."

"Waco, eh? Well, that's an insult to Texas. What's your idea in holdin'
up wimmin-folk, anyhow?"

"Mebby you'd hold up anybody if you hadn't et since yesterday morning."

"Think I believe that?"

"Suit yourself. You got me down."