“What kind of chances?”
Smith looked at Tubbs before he lowered his voice and asked:
“Wasn’t you ever on the rustle none?”
Tubbs reflected.
“Onct back east, in I-ó-wa, I rustled me a set of underwear off’n a clothes-line.”
Smith eyed Tubbs in genuine disgust. He had all the contempt for a petty-larceny thief that the skilled safe-breaker has for the common purse-snatcher. The line between pilfering and legitimate stealing was very clear in his mind. He said merely,
“Tubbs, I believe you’re a bad hombre.”
“They is worse, I s’pose,” said Tubbs modestly, “but I’ve been pretty rank in my time.”
“Can you ride? Can you rope? Can you cut out a steer and burn a brand? Would you get buck-ague in a pinch and quit me if it came to a show-down? Are you a stayer?”
“Try me,” said Tubbs, swelling.