"Hold on, will you!" ordered Jack, peremptorily. "I like this horse. I
want to look him over."

When he grasped the bridle-reins out of the cowboy's hand Spottie jumped
as if he had been shot at. Belllounds jerked at him and went closer. The
mustang reared, snorting, plunging to get loose. Then Jack Belllounds
showed the sudden temper for which he was noted. Red stained his
pale cheeks.

"Damn you--come down!" he shouted, infuriated at the mustang, and with
both hands he gave a powerful lunge. Spottie came down, and stood there,
trembling all over, his ears laid back, his eyes showing fright and
pain. Blood dripped from his mouth where the bit had cut him.

"I'll teach you to stand," said Belllounds, darkly. "Moore, lend me your
spurs. I want to try him out."

"I don't lend my spurs--or my horse, either," replied the cowboy,
quietly, with a stride that put him within reach of Spottie.

The other cowboys had dropped their trappings and stood at attention,
with intent gaze and mute lips.

"Is he your horse?" demanded Jack, with a quick flush.

"I reckon so," replied Moore, slowly. "No one but me ever rode him."

"Does my father own him or do you own him?"

"Well, if that's the way you figure--he belongs to White Slides,"