"H-m-m!" muttered Strann, and once more he bent a keen gaze upon his companion. The drinks were now placed before them. "Here," he concluded, "is to the black devil outside!" And he swallowed the liquor at a gulp, but as he replaced the empty glass on the table he observed, with breathless amazement, that the whiskey glass of the stranger was still full; he had drunk his chaser!
"Now, by God!" said Strann in a ringing voice, and struck a heavy hand upon the top of the table. He regained his control, however, instantly. "Now about that price!"
"I don't know what horses are worth," replied Barry.
"To start, then—five hundred bucks in cold cash—gold!—for your—what's his name?"
"Satan."
"Eh?"
"Satan."
"H-m-m!" murmured Strann again. "Five hundred for Satan, then. How about it?"
"If you can ride him," began the stranger.
"Oh, hell," smiled Strann with a large and careless gesture, "I'll ride him, all right."