“He’s ther brains o’ this hyer ranch when thar’s any schemin’ goin’ on,” returned Red Steve. “It was him as hatched up this hyer plot about the stakes an’ the stampede. That’s purty vi’lent, but when ye’re dealin’ with fellers like Buffler Bill an’ Perry, no halfway measures ain’t a-goin’ ter pass muster.”
“I reckon that’s so! Whar is this hyer Crowder’s corral?”
“Between this ranch an’ the Star-A. Thar’s them boys o’ mine,” Red Steve added, pointing. “They’re sizin’ up that ’ar hoss o’ yourn.”
The two men entered the grove and came front to front with four men whose faces were as villainous as that of Red Steve. They were looking Beeswax over with critical eyes.
The horse was picketed, and the saddle, bridle and blanket were hanging from the limb of a nearby tree.
“Purty good hoss, that,” remarked Wild Bill.
Four pairs of eyes turned on him suspiciously.
“Who the blazes aire you?” asked one of the quartette.
“He’s got a clean bill, pards,” spoke up Red Steve. “I know his looks is ag’in him, but he’s all right in spite o’ his looks. He suits Jerry an’ Lige, so he’s got ter suit us. He’s ter be one o’ the White Caps. Gringo Pete, that feller’s Shorty Dobbs; the one behind him is Ace Hawkins; the one back o’ Ace is Splinters Gibson; an’ t’other ’un is Weasel Skinner. We all got ter be friends, fellers. Don’t act measly to’rds yer new pard.”
The four ruffians tried hard to show their friendship.