Old Bill’s guess had been good, and Chuck failed to grumble when he eased his feet into the boots.
“Now we’ll get at the important business,” said the cattleman, producing a pair of hair clippers.
“Is that necessary?” asked Chuck hopefully.
“We’re going to do this thing right. When I get through with you, neither one of the hombres who jumped you up near the summit will ever recognize you.”
Chuck sat down on the grass and Old Bill started snipping away. He wasn’t expert as a barber, but he managed a fair job which Slim, grinning at Chuck’s protests, watched.
The new haircut certainly made a difference in Chuck, and Slim felt that in Old Bill they had a wise counsellor.
After the hair-cutting operation was completed, Old Bill turned to Slim.
“Bring Lightning up and we’ll get at the dyeing of her white spots.” He opened up a can of dye and mixed it in one of the tin cups, working until he had the mixture just the shade of Lightning’s sleek hair. Then, with a soft cloth, he rubbed on the dye while the big sorrel stood patiently, wondering just what it was all about.
First the star on the forehead was changed from white to sorrel, then the white on the legs was dyed. When the task was finished, Slim stepped a few paces from his mount. The dye had blended beautifully with the natural shade and it would have taken an expert to have detected that dye had been used.
Slim put the new saddle Old Bill had brought on Lightning, drew up the cinches, and mounted. He rocked back and forth in the stirrups, then dismounted and adjusted them. Once more he mounted, this time satisfied, and a smile broke over his lips.