"That bird," said Dorgan nodding toward Blake, "is makin' a cinch offer. Take all you can get. The old boy, here, was just waitin' for you to hold the bets."
"S'pose you hold money, me bet him now," Paul Sam confirmed.
"Come on, come on!" Blake vociferated from his perch. "Put up a bet on your—cayuse. Here's real money. Come and get it!"
Dorgan turned to face him.
"You're makin' a whole lot of noise on that handful of chicken feed," he observed.
"Come and take it then," Blake retorted. "They tell me you used to ride for white men once."
"Well, that never gave you no first call on me!" Dorgan shot back.
Somebody laughed, and Blake's temper, always ugly, flared up.
"Keep a civil tongue in your head, you down-and-outer, or I'll throw you out!" he rasped.
But Dorgan was not awed by the threat, nor by the size of the man who made it.