The girl followed his glance to the Texan who approached accompanied by Bat Lajune and a cowboy who led from the horn of his saddle a blaze-faced bay with a roman nose. As the three drew nearer the girl could see the mocking smile upon his lips as his eyes rested for a moment on Purdy. "I don't like that man," she said, as though speaking to herself, "and yet——"
"Plenty others don't like him, too," growled Purdy. "I'm glad he's draw'd that roman nose, 'cause he's the out-buckin'est outlaw that ever grow'd hair—him an' that pinto, yonder, that's hangin' back on the rope."
The Texan drew up directly in front of the lumber pile and ignoring Purdy entirely, raised his Stetson to the girl. The direct cutting of Purdy had been obviously rude and Alice Marcum felt an increasing dislike for the man. She returned his greeting with a perfunctory nod and instantly felt her face grow hot with anger. The Texan was laughing at her—was regarding her with an amused smile.
A yell went up from the crowd and out on the flat beyond the Texan, a horse, head down and back humped like an angry cat, was leaping into the air and striking the ground stiff-legged in a vain effort to shake the rider from his back.
"'Bout as lively as a mud turtle. He'll sulk in a minute," laughed the Texan, and true to the prophecy, the horse ceased his efforts and stood with legs wide apart and nose to the ground.
"Whoopee!"
"He's a ringtailed woozoo!"
"Thumb him!"
"Scratch him!"
The crowd laughed and advised, and the cowboy thumbed and scratched, but the broncho's only sign of animation was a vicious switching of the tail.