“That’s a good one, ain’t it?” said a third man to Lem Speed.
“And so,” said he, “you, claiming you’re an Eastern tenderfoot, found this place, first trip, all by yourself across fifty miles of country old-timers get lost in?”
“No. Washakie gave me a map.”
“Let’s see your map.”
“I lighted my fire with it.”
Somebody laughed. There were now five or six of them standing round me.
“If some of you gentlemen will condescend to tell me what you think my name is, and what you think I have done—”
“We don’t know what your name is, and we don’t care. As to what you’ve done, that’s as well known to you as it is to us, and you’ve got gall to ask, when we’ve caught you right on the spot, branding-irons and all.”
“Well, I’m beginning to understand. You think you’ve caught a cattle thief.”
“Horse thief,” corrected one.