Entering the cabin briskly, Cheyenne took his place at the table and ate heartily.
Lawson, who seemed to be Sneed's right-hand man, was the first to speak to him. "Bill tells me you are huntin' hosses."
"Yep! That little gray and the buckskin, out in your corral, are my hosses. They strayed--"
"Didn't see no brand on 'em," declared Lawson.
"Nope. They never was branded. I raised 'em both, when I was workin' for Senator Steve, over to the Box-S."
"That sounds all right. But you got to show me. I bought them cayuses from a Chola, down in the valley."
Cheyenne suspected that Lawson was trying to create argument and, in so doing, open up a way to make him back down and leave or take the consequences of his act in demanding the horses.
"Honest, they're my hosses," declared Cheyenne, turning to Sneed.
"You'll have to talk to Lawson," said Sneed.
Cheyenne frowned and scratched his head. Suddenly his face brightened. "Tell you what I'll do! I'll shoot you craps for 'em."