Part 9 (1/2)

”Whoopee!”

”He's a ringtailed woozoo!”

”Thumb him!”

”Scratch him!”

The crowd laughed and advised, and the cowboy thumbed and scratched, but the broncho's only sign of animation was a vicious switching of the tail.

”Next horse!” cried the Mayor, and a horse shot out, leaving the ground before the rider was in the saddle. Straight across the flat he bucked with the cowboy whipping higher and higher in the saddle as he tried in vain to catch his right stirrup.

”He's a goner!”

”He's clawin' leather!”

To save himself a fall the rider had grabbed the horn of the saddle, and for him the contest was over.

”Come on, Bat, we'll throw the sh.e.l.l on this old buzzard-head. I'm number seven an' there's three down!” called the Texan.

The two swung from the saddles and the roman-nosed outlaw p.r.i.c.ked his ears and set against the rope with fore legs braced. The cowboy who had him in tow took an extra dally around the saddle horn as the Texan, hackamore in hand, felt his way inch by inch along the taut lead-rope.

As the man's hand touched his nose the outlaw shuddered and braced back until only the whites of his eyes showed. Up came the hand and the rawhide hackamore slipped slowly into place.

”He's a-goin' to ride with a hackamore!” cried someone as the Texan busied himself with the knots. Suddenly the lead-rope slackened and with a snort of fury the outlaw reared and lashed out with both forefeet. The Texan stepped swiftly aside and as the horse's feet struck the ground the loaded end of a rawhide quirt smashed against his jaw.

Bat Lajune removed the saddle from the Texan's horse and stepped forward with the thick felt pad which Tex, with a hand in the cheek-strap of the hackamore, brushed along the outlaw's sides a few times and then deftly threw over the animal's back. The horse, braced against the rope, stood trembling in every muscle while Bat brought forward the saddle with the right stirrup-leather and cinch thrown back over the seat. As he was about to hand it to the Texan he stopped suddenly and examined the cinch. Then without a word carried it back, unsaddled his own horse, and taking the cinch from his saddle exchanged it for the other.

”Just as easy to switch cinches as it is drinks, ain't it, Bat?”

grinned Tex.

”Ba Goss! Heem look lak' Circle J boun' for be wan man short,” replied the half-breed, and the girl, upon whom not a word nor a move had been lost, noticed that Purdy's jaw tightened as the Texan laughed at the apparently irrelevant remark.

The outlaw shuddered as the heavy saddle was thrown upon his back and the cinch ring deftly caught with a loop of rope and made fast.

Out on the flat number four, on the pinto outlaw, had hit the dirt, number five had ridden through on a dead one, and number six had quit his in mid-air.

”Next horse--number seven!” called the Mayor. The cowboy who had the broncho in tow headed out on the flat prepared to throw off his dallies and two others, including Purdy, rode forward quirt in hand, to haze the hate-blinded outlaw from cras.h.i.+ng into the wagons. With his hand gripping the cheek-strap, Tex turned and looked straight into Purdy's eyes.

”Go crawl under a wagon an' chaw a bone,” he said in a low even voice, ”I'll whistle when I want _you_.” For an instant the men's glances locked, while the onlookers held their breath. Purdy was not a physical coward. The insult was direct, uttered distinctly, and in the hearing of a crowd. At his hip was the six-gun with which he had just won a shooting contest--yet he did not draw. The silence was becoming painful when the man shrugged, and without a word, turned his horse away. Someone laughed, and the tension broke with a hum of low-voiced conversation.

”Next horse, ready!”

As the crowd drew back Alice Marc.u.m leaned close to Purdy's ear.

”I think it was splendid!” she whispered; ”it was the bravest thing I ever saw.” The man could scarcely believe his ears.

”Is she kiddin' me?” he wondered, as he forced his glance to the girl's face. But no, she was in earnest, and in her eyes the man read undisguised admiration. She was speaking again.

”Any one of these,” she indicated the crowd with a sweep of her gloved hand, ”would have shot him, but it takes a real man to preserve perfect self-control under insult.”