“Natan! Natan!”
The youth paused, hesitated, yet came no nearer; and John repeated his summons, with an imperative “Here!” Then muttered an explanation to the reporter: “Another of those no-account Greasers; same kind as the Bernals and hired by top-lofty when, he was in charge. Works well enough but–––”
By this time Natan had slouched forward and stood stolidly awaiting an expected as well as merited reproof, because of stalls imperfectly 187 cleaned and harnesses left in other than their own places; for John was orderly to the last degree and a very martinet in disciplining his subordinates. However, it was no neglect of duty that was now to be scored, but a question was fairly hurled at the young groom and in a voice sharp with anxiety:
“Natan, did you saddle Buster just now?”
“But yes,” answered the lad, greatly relieved.
“Where is he? And Nimrod?”
“Nimrod is at the ‘house’ horse block, is it not? Si. Groomed to the highest, and a beauty we’re all glad to see back where he belongs.”
“Your opinion wasn’t asked. Where is Buster?”
“Where the captain wills. I know not, I,” with a shrug of his lean shoulders.
“Did she mount him?”