We had lunch and a smoke and settled up with McCloud. About
mid-afternoon we went on down to the livery corral. I knew the keeper
pretty well, of course, so I borrowed a horse and saddle for Brower. The
latter looked with extreme disfavour on both.

"This is no race meet," I reminded him. "This is a means of
transportation."

"Sorry I ain't got nothing better," apologized Meigs, to whom I had
confided my companion's profession--I had to account for such a figure
somehow. "All my saddle hosses went off with a mine outfit yesterday."

"What's the matter with that chestnut in the shed?"

"He's all right; fine beast. Only it ain't mine. It belongs to Ramon."

"Ramon from Hooper's?"

"Yeah."

"I'd let you ride my horse and take Meigs's old skate myself," I said to
Brower, "but when you first get on him this bronc of mine is a
rip-humming tail twister. Ain't he, Meigs?"

"He's a bad _caballo_," corroborated Meigs.

"Does he buck?" queried Brower, indifferently.

"Every known fashion. Bites, scratches, gouges, and paws. Want to try