They forded the stream and their horses mounted the sloping bank to the main street. Half way down the row of buildings a two-story structure reared its head. A faded sign proclaimed “Palace Hotel” and to the rear was a rambling stable and large corral.
In spite of their own weariness from the long, hot day in the saddle, their horses came first.
A hostler appeared from the shadows of the stable as they dismounted and Slim turned Lightning over to his care.
“How much for the horses?” asked Chuck.
“Going to stay at the hotel?” asked the stableman.
“Yes,” Chuck nodded.
“Half a dollar for each horse then.”
The price was fair enough and Slim and Chuck unfastened their saddles and rifle scabbards. They were taking no risks on the honesty of anyone at Dirty Water. The hostler looked at Lightning with open admiration.
“Fine looking horse,” he said. “Must be mighty fast.”
“Fair,” agreed Slim, “but getting a little old to keep up a hard trail gait very long. See that she’s given the best of care.”