“You must be a pretty slick thief if you could steal a horse belonging to one of Buffalo Bill’s pards, and make a safe getaway.”
A fierce look crossed the dirty face of Gringo Pete.
“I don’t mind tellin’ ye,” he scowled, “that the reason I took the animile is bekase it belonged ter one o’ that ole rawhide’s pards. Some day, ye kin bet yer bottom dollar, I’m goin’ ter git Buffler Bill’s skelp!”
These remarks caused both Lige and Jerry to take renewed interest in their unsavory visitor.
“What have you got against Buffalo Bill?” asked Lige, with a significant look at Jerry.
“What hev I got ag’in him?” shouted Gringo, “me?” He stood up in the stirrups and shook his fist up the river. “Wasn’t it him as trimmed me fer all I was wuth? Wasn’t it that thar long-haired, meddlin’ coyote that busted up my bizness an’ took ev’ry dollar I got in the world? An’ ain’t I follered him all the way from Arizony ter Texas jest ter play even?”
“How did he trim you?” demanded Lige Benner, more and more interested.
Gringo Pete suddenly collapsed into his saddle.
“I’m torkin’ more’n what I ort,” he mumbled. “I belonged ter a gang this hyar long-haired trouble-chaser put out o’ bizness. That’s all I’m tellin’. I want a job hyar bekase Buffler Bill is on the Brazos, an’ I want ter be nigh him. When he leaves—if he ever does—I’ll leave, too. I’ll foller him ter Ballyhack but what I’ll land on him afore I’m done. Now, do yer torkin’. Am I ter stay hyer, er am I ter ride on?”
“Stay here, Gringo,” piped Jerry.