him?"

"I got a headache," replied Brower, grouchily. "Bring out your old dog."

When I came back from roping and blindfolding the twisted dynamite I was
engaged in "gentling," I found that Brower was saddling the mournful
creature with my saddle. My expostulation found him very snappy and
very arbitrary. His opium-irritated nerves were beginning to react. I
realized that he was not far short of explosive obstinacy. So I conceded
the point; although, as every rider knows, a cowboy's saddle and a
cowboy's gun are like unto a toothbrush when it comes to lending. Also
it involved changing the stirrup length on the livery saddle. I needed
things just right to ride Tiger through the first five minutes.

When I had completed this latter operation, Brower had just finished
drawing tight the cinch. His horse stood dejectedly. When Brower had
made fast the latigo, the horse--as such dispirited animals often
do--heaved a deep sigh. Something snapped beneath the slight strain of
the indrawn breath.

"Dogged if your cinch ain't busted!" cried Meigs with a loud laugh.
"Lucky for you your friend did borrow your saddle! If you'd clumb Tiger
with that outfit you could just naturally have begun pickin' out the
likely-looking she-angels."

I dropped the stirrup and went over to examine the damage. Both of the
quarter straps on the off side had given way. I found that they had been
cut nearly through with a sharp knife. My eye strayed to Ramon's
chestnut horse standing under the shed.