The Texan | Page 7

the gamblers fell over each other in an effort
to dodge the flying splinters that filled the powder-fogged air.
"Little black bull slid down the mountain, L-o-n-g t-i-m-e ago!"
roared the Texan as he threw open the cylinder of his gun.
"H-e-e-e-e scraped his horn on a hickory saplin', L-o-n-g t-i-m-e
ago----"
There was a sudden commotion behind him, a swift rush of feet, a
muffled thud, and a gasping, agonized grunt. The next instant the huge
acetelyne lamp that lighted the room fell to the floor with a crash and
the place was plunged in darkness.
"Queek, m's'u, dees way!" a hand grasped his wrist and the cowpuncher
felt himself drawn swiftly toward the door. From all sides sounded the
scuffling of straining men who breathed heavily as they fought in the
blackness.
A thin red flame cut the air and a shot rang sharp. Someone screamed
and a string of Spanish curses blended into the hubbub of turmoil.

"De hosses, queek, m's'u!"
The cool air of the street fanned the Texan's face as he leaped across
the sidewalk, and vaulted into the saddle. The next moment the big
black was pounding the roadway neck and neck with another, smaller
horse upon which the half-breed swayed in the saddle with the ease and
grace of the loose-rein rider born.
It was broad daylight when the cowpuncher opened his eyes in an
arroyo deep among the hills far, far from Las Vegas. He rubbed his
forehead tenderly, and crawling to a spring a few feet distant, buried his
face in the tiny pool and drank deeply of the refreshing liquid. Very
deliberately he dried his face on a blue handkerchief, and fumbled in
his pockets for papers and tobacco. As he blew the grey smoke from his
nostrils he watched the half-breed who sat nearby industriously splicing
a pair of broken bridle reins.
"Did you get that ticket, Bat?" he asked, with a hand pressed tightly
against his aching forehead.
The other grinned. "Me, A'm no wan' no ticket. A'm lak A'm stay wit'
you, an' mebbe-so we git de job togedder."
The cowpuncher smoked for a time in silence.
"What was the rookus last night?" he asked, indifferently. Then,
suddenly, his eye fell upon the sorrel that snipped grass at the end of a
lariat rope near the picketed black, and he leaped to his feet. "Where'd
you get that horse?" he exclaimed sharply. "It's Fatty's! There's the
reins he busted when he snorted loose!"
Again the half-breed grinned. "A'm bor' dat hoss for com' 'long wit' you.
Dat Fatty, she damn bad man. She try for keel you w'en you tak' de shot
at de wheel. A'm com' 'long dat time an' A'm keek heem in de guts an'
he roll 'roun' on de floor, an' A'm t'row de bottle of wheesky an' smash
de beeg lamp an' we com' 'long out of dere." The cowpuncher tossed
his cigarette away and spat upon the ground.

"How'd you happen to come in there so handy just at the right time?"
he asked with a sidewise glance at the half-breed.
"Oh, A'm fol' you long tam'. A'm t'ink mebbe-so you git l'il too mooch
hooch an' som'one try for do you oop. A'm p'ek in de door an' seen
Fatty gon' shoot you. Dat mak' me mad lak hell, an' A'm run oop an'
keek heem so hard I kin on hees belly. You ma frien'. A'm no lak I seen
you git keel."
The Texan nodded. "I see. You're a damn good Injun, Bat, an' I ain't got
no kick comin' onto the way you took charge of proceedin's. But you
sure raised hell when you stole that horse. They's prob'ly about
thirty-seven men an' a sheriff a-combin' these here hills fer us at this
partic'lar minute an' when they catch us----"
The half-breed laughed. "Dem no ketch. We com' feefty mile. Dat
leetle hoss she damn good hoss. We got de two bes' hoss. We ke'p goin'
dey no ketch. 'Spose dey do ketch. Me, A'm tell 'em A'm steal dat hoss
an' you not know nuthin' 'bout dat."
There was a twinkle in the Texan's eye as he yawned and stretched
prodigiously. "An' I'll tell 'em you're the damnedest liar in the state of
Texas an' North America throw'd in. Come on, now, you throw the
shells on them horses an' we'll be scratchin' gravel. Fifty miles ain't no
hell of a ways--my throat's beginnin' to feel kind of draw'd already."
"W'er' we goin'?" asked the half-breed as they swung into the saddles.
"Bat," said the other, solemnly, "me an' you is goin' fast, an' we're goin'
a long time. You mentioned somethin' about Montana bein'
considerable of a cow country. Well, me an' you is a-goin' North--as far