The homesteader leaped from his seat on the instant.
“I'll do it!” Then he bethought him that perhaps some little display of reluctance might be seemly and natural. “Your horse is sound, of course?”
“Sound as a dollar. Look it over if you don't think so.”
The woman came to the front of the wagon, listening breathlessly. Now she put the flaps aside and looked out.
Her husband turned to her. “We're going to swap horses—you don't care, do you?”
She tried to meet the glance of the Bad Man, but could not.
“It's all right, wife?”
“Yes,” she answered in a low voice; “it's all right.”
The animal was already free from the shafts, and at her word he led it out from between them. The Bad Man threw himself astride the stolen horse.
“I'll say good day to you, pardner—and to—you”—to the woman, and without a word more he was galloping off down the trail toward Las Vegas. |