“Ah, that mare’s the very devil. How are you doin’ with her now?”
“Oh, so, so. She leads me a dance, but I’d rather have her than any plug you’ve got on the ranch. She’s the finest thing I’ve ever put a leg over.”
“Yes, guess that’s so. The boss was always struck on her. I kind of remember when she came. She wasn’t bred hereabouts. The old man bought her from some half-breed outfit goin’ through the country three years ago—that’s how he told me. Then we tried to break her. Say, you’ve done well with her, boy.”
Jake had been lacing up a pair of high field boots; they were massive things with heavy, clumped soles, iron tips and heels. Now he straightened up.
“Did Nelson say why he was late?” he went on abruptly.
“No. And I didn’t ask him.”
“Ah, knew it, I s’pose. Drunk?”
“No.”
Tresler felt that the lie was a justifiable one.