took it as a personal reflection on himself.

Still smouldering with anger at this high-handed proceeding, Dave went
down to the Longhorn Corral and saddled his horse. He had promised
Byington to help water the herd.

This done, he rode back to town, hitched the horse back of a barber shop,
and went in for a shave. Presently he was stretched in a chair, his boots
thrown across the foot rest in front of him.

The barber lathered his face and murmured gossip in his ear. "George
Doble and Miller claim they're goin' to Denver to run some skin game at
a street fair. They're sure slick guys."

Dave offered no comment.

"You notice they didn't steal any of Em Crawford's stock. No, sirree!
They knew better. Hopped away with broncs belongin' to you boys because
they knew it'd be safe."

"Picked easy marks, did they?" asked the puncher sardonically.

The man with the razor tilted the chin of his customer and began to
scrape. "Well, o'course you're only boys. They took advantage of that
and done you a meanness."

Dug Doble came into the shop, very grim about the mouth. He stopped to
look down sarcastically at the new boots Sanders was wearing.

"I see you've bought you a new pair of boots," he said in a heavy,