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Partners of Chance by Henry Herbert Knibbs
page 76 of 233 (32%)

"Just coolin' my feet," he explained. "It ain't so much the kind of
boots, because these fit. It's scaldin' your feet that throws you."

They smoked and drank from the canteen. Five minutes' rest, and they
were on the road again. The big mesa reached on and on toward the south,
seemingly limitless, without sign of fence or civilization save for the
narrow road that swung over each slight, rounded rise and ran away into
the distance, narrowing to a gray line that disappeared in space.

Occasionally singing, Cheyenne strode along, Bartley striding beside
him.

"You got a stride like a unbroke yearlin'," said; Cheyenne, as Bartley
unconsciously drew ahead.

Bartley stopped and turned into step as Cheyenne caught up. He held
himself to a slower pace, realizing that, while his companion could have
outridden him by days and miles, the other was not used to walking.

As they topped a low rise a coyote sprang up and floated away. Bartley
flinched as Cheyenne whipped up his gun and fired. The coyote
jack-knifed and lay still. Cheyenne punched the empty shell from his
gun, slipped in a cartridge, and strode on.

"Pretty fast work," remarked Bartley.

"Huh! I just throwed down on him to see if I was gettin' slow."

"It seems to me that if I could shoot like that, I wouldn't let any man
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