"Well, you got a real hoss, there. The water is right close. Old Dobe knows where it is. Just lift off your saddle and turn him loose--or mebby you better hobble him the first night. He ain't used to travelin' with you, yet."
"I have a stake-rope," said Bartley.
"A hoss would starve on a stake-rope out here. I'll make you a pair of hobbles, pronto. Then he'll stick with my hosses."
"Where are they?"
"Runnin' around out there somewhere. They never stray far from camp."
Bartley watched Cheyenne untwist a piece of soft rope and make a pair of serviceable hobbles.
"Now he'll travel easy and git enough grass to keep him in shape. And them hobbles won't burn him. Any time you're shy of hobbles, that's how to make 'em."
Later, as Bartley sat by the fire and ate, Cheyenne asked him if Panhandle had been seen in town since the night of the crap game. Bartley told him that he had seen nothing of Panhandle.
"He's ridin' this country, somewhere," said Cheyenne. "You're headed for Steve's ranch?"
"Yes."