Grayson shot a quick glance at the man. The answer confirmed his suspicions that the stranger was probably a horse thief, which, in Grayson's estimation, was the worst thing a man could be.
“Where did you get that pony you come in on?” he demanded. “I ain't sayin' nothin' of course, but I jest want to tell you that we ain't got no use for horse thieves here.”
The Easterner, who had been a listener, was shocked by the brutality of Grayson's speech; but Bridge only laughed.
“If you must know,” he said, “I never bought that horse, an' the man he belonged to didn't give him to me. I just took him.”
“You got your nerve,” growled Grayson. “I guess you better git out. We don't want no horse thieves here.”
“Wait,” interposed the boss. “This man doesn't act like a horse thief. A horse thief, I should imagine, would scarcely admit his guilt. Let's have his story before we judge him.”
“All right,” said Grayson; “but he's just admitted he stole the horse.”
Bridge turned to the boss. “Thanks,” he said; “but really I did steal the horse.”
Grayson made a gesture which said: “See, I told you so.”
“It was like this,” went on Bridge. “The gentleman who owned the horse, together with some of his friends, had been shooting at me and my friends. When it was all over there was no one left to inform us who were the legal heirs of the late owners of this and several other horses which were left upon our hands, so I borrowed this one. The law would say, doubtless, that I had stolen it; but I am perfectly willing to return it to its rightful owners if someone will find them for me.”