"Yep! That little gray and the buckskin, out in your corral, are my
hosses. They strayed--"

"Didn't see no brand on 'em," declared Lawson.

"Nope. They never was branded. I raised 'em both, when I was workin' for
Senator Steve, over to the Box-S."

"That sounds all right. But you got to show me. I bought them cayuses
from a Chola, down in the valley."

Cheyenne suspected that Lawson was trying to create argument and, in so
doing, open up a way to make him back down and leave or take the
consequences of his act in demanding the horses.

"Honest, they're my hosses," declared Cheyenne, turning to Sneed.

"You'll have to talk to Lawson," said Sneed.

Cheyenne frowned and scratched his head. Suddenly his face brightened.
"Tell you what I'll do! I'll shoot you craps for 'em."

"That's all right, but what'll you put up against 'em?" asked Lawson.

"What did you pay for 'em?" queried Cheyenne.

"Fifty bucks."

"You got 'em cheap. They're worth that much to me." Cheyenne pushed back