returned the cowboy. "I never bought him. I only raised him from a colt,
broke him, and rode him."

"I thought so. Moore, he's mine, and I'm going to ride him now. Lend me
spurs, one of you cowpunchers."

Nobody made any motion to comply. There seemed to be a suspense at hand
that escaped Belllounds.

"I'll ride him without spurs," he declared, presently, and again he
turned to mount the mustang.

"Belllounds, it'd be better for you not to ride him now," said Moore,
coolly.

"Why, I'd like to know?" demanded Belllounds, with the temper of one who
did not tolerate opposition.

"He's the only horse left for me to ride," answered the cowboy. "We're
branding to-day. Hudson was hurt yesterday. He was foreman, and he
appointed me to fill his place. I've got to rope yearlings. Now, if you
get up on Spottie you'll excite him. He's high-strung, nervous. That'll
be bad for him, as he hates cutting-out and roping."

The reasonableness of this argument was lost upon Belllounds.

"Moore, maybe it'd interest you to know that I'm foreman of White
Slides," he asserted, not without loftiness.

His speech manifestly decided something vital for the cowboy.