"There's the beauty I want," said Wild Bill, pointing to a black horse, full sixteen hands high, and evidently a thoroughbred. "Name your price, and he is my meat!"
"That horse isn't for sale now. He was spoken for an hour ago, or maybe less by a cash customer of mine–a red-haired chap from Texas."
"Red-haired chap from Texas!" muttered Bill, "Red-haired cusses from Texas are always crossin' my trail. That chap from Abilene was a Texas cattle-man, with hair as red as fire. Where is your cash customer, Mr. Liveryman?"
"Gone out riding somewhere," replied the stable-keeper.
"When he comes back, tell him Wild Bill wants that horse, and I reckon he'll let Wild Bill buy him, if he knows when he is well off! I wouldn't give two cusses and an amen for all the rest of the horses in your stable; I want him!"
"I'll tell Jack," said the stableman; "but I don't think it will make much odds with him. He has as good as bought the horse, for he offered me the money on my price, but I couldn't change his five hundred-dollar treasury note. It'll take more than a name to scare him. He always goes fully armed."
"You tell him what I said, and that I'm a-coming here at sunset for that horse," said Bill, and he strode away, followed by his crowd.
An hour later the auburn-haired man from Texas reined in his own horse, a fiery mustang from his own native plains, in front of the stable.
Though the horse was all afoam with sweat, showing that it had been ridden far and fast; it did not pant or show a sign of weariness. It was of a stock which will run from rise of sun to its going down, and yet plunge forward in the chill of the coming night.
"You want the Black Hawk horse you spoke for this morning, don't you?" asked the stableman, as Jack dismounted.