With an earnestness that there was no mistaking, the rancher reached out his hand.
“Sargint,” he said solemnly, “shake. Yu’re a rider.” And in the warmth of that grip Ellis became vaguely conscious that his nerve had won for him a friend.
Good fellowship established once more, Gallagher’s taciturnity vanished and he became voluble and communicative.
“Now, see here, look; I’ll tell yu’, Sargint,” he rambled on. “I raised that hawss, an’ I know him like a book. There’s only two men ever stayed with him. They’re no-goods, both of ’em, but they kin ride. Yu’ know ’em, too—Short an’ Dirty’s one, an’ that there Jules Le Frambois yu’ve just took down for rustlin’ Billy Jacques’ stock, t’other. Jules—he got piled higher’n a kite, first crack outer th’ box, but he stayed with him th’ second trip. Wanst he finds a feller kin ride him he quits pitchin’ right away with that feller—for good. Yu’ git on him now an’ see ’f I ain’t right.”
Ellis did so and, with a rough slap of the quirt and a thrust of the spurs, thumbing the horse’s withers and fanning its ears with his hat; but all his efforts to make the buckskin hump again were fruitless, and the Sergeant, as he felt the surge of the easy-gaited, powerful animal under him, knew that here was a remount that could be depended on in any emergency.
“What’d I tell yu’?” said Gallagher, as Benton dismounted and off-saddled. “Nary a jump—an’ Short an’ Dirty, he rode him for three months—an’ he says he’s good on th’ rope an’ll stand wherever his lines is dropped. Now yu’ take him and ride him as long as yu’ want, Sargint.... I guess there ain’t nobody else around here as is anxious,” he added, grinning. “What’s his name? Why, I calls him ‘Shakem.’ He’s sure shook a few of ’em, too. I didn’t aim to get yu’ hurt none, but some of th’ boys had it that yu’ used to bust for th’ ‘Turkey-Track,’ an’, well, I kinder own I was a bit minded to see if yu’ shaped like it,” he ended whimsically.
The ghost of a smile for a moment illuminated Benton’s blood-stained, tired face as, lighting a cigarette, he retrieved his own boots and prepared to lead his borrowed mount away.
“An’ are yu’ satisfied?” he queried wearily.
“Aye,” answered the rancher, with fervent conviction. “I sure am that. Yes, I’ll ride on over an’ fix up that black o’ yores if yu’re away th’ night. So long, Sargint.”