He returned the grease and jack to the wagon box, and moved toward the gate of the corral.
“Coming my way?” he asked casually.
“Not just now. I’m looking around—some.”
Charlie laughed.
“Ah. I’d forgotten that broom.”
“Most folks do,” replied Fyles, “—until they fall over it.”
Charlie had reached his horse’s side. He unhooked the reins from the fence, and flung them over its head. Then, with an agility quite remarkable, he vaulted into the saddle.
“Well, I hope that broom won’t come my way,” he laughed. “I’d hate falling around.”
“I hope it won’t,” said Fyles, in the same light manner, as he followed out of the corral. “That’s a dandy plug of yours,” he said with admiration, as his appreciative eyes noted the chestnut’s points.
“He surely is,” returned Charlie. “He can go some, too. I’ll give you a run one day—if you fancy yours.”