“You drop that halter. That’s my horse. I took him from Joe Hunt for debt. If you don’t let him go, I’ll have you arrested for hoss-stealing.”
But the old man paid him no heed. Instead he asked Phil:
“Is that the horse you lost?”
“It certainly is.”
“Then come on. We’ll lead him back. You young folks ride ahead. None o’ that, Lem,” he added harshly, as the fellow’s hand dropped to his hip-pocket. “Murder would be goin’ too far—even for you.”
An instant Petersen glowered at the old man who faced him so fearlessly, then snarled:
“But I tell you I got that black from Joe Hunt. I ain’t going to let an old numbskull like you beat me out of him, neither.”
“You know—” began the girl, but she was quickly silenced by her father.
“Let me do the talking, gal. Look a here, Lem, that horse ain’t never been worked and you know it. If Joe Hunt had a horse like that, he wouldn’t feed it for a week. He’d figger he could live on his fat that length of time.” Petersen opened his mouth to reply, when Phil said:
“It is a simple matter to prove the ownership. We’ll lead him over to this gentleman’s tonight and tomorrow we will ride into Bradley and bring back Sam Turner, from whom we bought the black. He would certainly recognize one of the horses he sold us.”