big rangy black and clattered down the street. At the edge of the town
he turned and started slowly back, dismounting wherever the lights of a
saloon illumined the dingy street, but never once catching a glimpse of
the figure that followed in the thick blackness of the shadows. Before
the saloon of the surly proprietor the cowpuncher brought his big black
to a stand and sat contemplating the sorrel that stood dejectedly with
ears adroop and one hind foot resting lightly upon the toe.

"So that's the cayuse Fatty wanted to trade me for Ace of Spades!" he
snorted. "That dog-legged, pot-gutted, lop-eared patch of red he offers
to trade to _me_ fer _Ace of Spades_! It's a doggone insult! I didn't
know it at the time, havin' only a couple of drinks, an' too sober to
judge a insult when I seen one. But it's different now, I can see it in
the dark. I'm a-goin' in there an'--an' twist his nose off an' feed it
to him. But first I got to find old Bat. He's an Injun, but he's a good
old scout, an' I hate to think of him walkin' all the way to Montana
while some damn Greaser is spendin' my hard earned samolians that I give
him for carfare. It's a long walk to Montana. Plumb through Colorado
an' Wyomin' an'--an' New Jersey, or somewheres. Mebbe he's in there now.
As they say in the Bible, or somewheres, you got to hunt for a thing
where you find it, or something. Hold still, there you black devil you!
What you want to stand there spinnin' 'round like a top for? You be'n
drinkin', you doggone old ringtail! What was I goin' to do, now. Oh,
yes, twist Patty's nose, an' find Bat an' shoot at his ears a while, an'
make him get his ticket to New Jersey an'----

"This is a blame slow old town, she needs wakin' up, anyhow. If I ride
in that door I'll get scraped off like mud off a boot."

He spurred the black and brought him up with a jerk beside the sorrel