Part 38 (1/2)
”The horse dealer from St. Louis!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Pan in tremendous relief.
”Blink, I believe you're right. I never saw one of those men before, or the horses either.”
”It's Wiggate, son,” corroborated Pan's father. ”I met him once. He's a broad heavy man with a thin gray chin beard. That's him.”
”Aw, h.e.l.l!” exclaimed Blinky, regretfully. ”There won't be any fight after all.”
The approaching hors.e.m.e.n halted within earshot.
”Hi, there, camp,” called the leader, whose appearance tallied with Smith's description.
”h.e.l.lo,” replied Pan, striding out.
”Who's boss here?”
”Reckon I am.”
”My name's Wiggate,” replied the other loudly.
”All right, Mr. Wiggate,” returned Pan just as loud voiced. ”What's your business?”
”Friendly. Give my word. I want to talk horses.”
”Come on up, then.”
Whereupon the group of hors.e.m.e.n advanced, and presently rode in under the trees into camp. The foremost was a large man, rather florid, with deep-set eyes and scant gray beard. His skin, sunburned red instead of brown, did not suggest the westerner.
”Are you the younger Smith?” he asked, rather nervously eyeing Pan.
”Yes, sir.”
”And you're in charge here?”
Pan nodded shortly. He sensed antagonism at least, in this man's bluff front, but it might not have been animosity.
”Word come to me this morning that you'd trapped a large number of horses,” went on Wiggate. ”I see that's a fact. It's a wonderful sight. Of course you expect to make a deal for them?”
”Yes. No trading. No percentage. I want cash. They're a shade better stock than you've been buying around Marco. Better gra.s.s here, and they've not been chased lean.”
”How many?”
”I don't know. We disagree as to numbers. But I say close to fifteen hundred head.”
”Good Lord!” boomed the big man. ”It's a haul indeed.... I'll give you our regular price, twelve fifty, delivered in Marco.”
”No, thanks,” replied Pan.
”Thirteen.”
Pan shook his head.