workin' tomorrow. They will be that pleased to show a lady how to wash a
pan o' dirt, they will be saltin' ivery pan wit' nuggets for ye! Eric,
lad," he called back to the tall young man, "ye might look the cow horse
over. She has not been curried for long; yet, whisper, beauty is but
skin deep an' the finest rapier is often encased in a rusty scabbard."

"There is something going forward that Mike wishes me to see," though
Eric, as he hurried off to the livery stable. "That is why he took Patty
away."

A crowd of gamblers were just putting up a pair of riders on two horses.

"Hey, Eric Tallman, you used to own this horse. Can he beat this
rat-tailed kyoodle that runs after steers?"

Eric laid a hand fondly on the magnificent black "half breed," who had
just enough mustang to give him the stamina and spirit and wildness
characteristic of the Spanish-bred horse.

"Keep him on a steady rein and he'll beat anything in the mountains. I'd
never have sold him except - ." He sighed, turning to the cattle horse.
She was long necked, long legged, long haired, wall-eyed, lean, and
badly in need of currying, and yet Irish Mike was no fool, and Mike knew
Eric's extremity - his and the girl's whom he loved.

He noted the deep, broad chest, the tapering barrel and the tremendous
driving power in the steel muscles of the hind quarters, but she
drooped, spiritless. He turned again to the satin-coated half-breed.

"Any dust up yet?"