CHAPTER IX.
BRADLEY'S SIGNAL VICTORY.
Bill Mosely started back as if he had seen a rattlesnake, and stared at Jake Bradley in mingled surprise and dismay.
"You didn't expect to see me, I reckon?" said Bradley, dryly.
Mosely still stared at him, uncertain what to say or what to do.
"I take it very kind of you to bring back the hosses you borrowed a few weeks since. You took 'em rather sudden, without askin' leave; it was a kind of oversight on your part."
"I don't know what you mean," answered Mosely, determined to brazen it out and keep the horses if possible, for he was lazy and a pedestrian tramp would not have suited him very well.
"You know what I mean well enough, Bill Mosely. If you don't, them mustangs outside may refresh your recollection. They look kinder fagged out. You've worked 'em too hard, Mosely."
"Those mustangs are ours. We bought 'em," said Mosely, boldly.—"Didn't we, Tom?"
"I should say so," remarked Hadley, with striking originality.