"Listen to me, young man," he said, rising and tapping him on the shoulder. "The horse that killed Dunbar is the worst man-eater in the country—I ought to have shot the brute long ago—and if you try to ride him he'll throw you before you git your stirrup. More'n that, he'll kick you before you hit the ground, and jump on you before you bounce. My twister, Hardy Atkins, won't go near 'im, and he's one of the best riders in Arizona; so what's the use of talking about it? Now, you're a stranger here, and I'll make an exception of you—how about that flunky job?"
"Why—really——" Mr. Bowles hesitated a moment. "Perhaps it's only in the name, but I'd rather not accept such a menial position. Of course, it's very kind of you to offer me the alternative, but——"
"Now, here!" cried the cattleman fiercely. "I'll make you assistant horse wrangler, at thirty dollars a month, and if you don't accept I'll tell Hardy to catch up the old man-killer and put you in the hospital! I was a fool to talk to you the way I did; but don't you crowd me too far, young man, or you'll find Henry Lee a man of his word! Now, will you wrangle horses, or will we have to ship you East?"
Bowles stared at him for a moment, and then he drew himself up proudly.
"If the choice lies between a menial position——" he began; and old Henry brought his teeth together with a click.
"You poor, dam', ignorant tenderfoot!" he raved. "You don't know when you're being treated white! You ain't worth a cent to me, sir—no, not a cent! And now I'm going to learn you something! I'll ask my twister to put the saddle on old Dunbar in the morning, and you'll have to ride him, sir, or own yourself a coward!"
"Very well, sir," answered Bowles, with military stiffness. "Very well! I will see you in the morning, then."
He bowed and strode off down the path, his new shaps flapping ponderously as he walked; and the old cattleman brushed his eyes to drive the mad thought away.