Kate Cathrew had remonstrated about that horse, but the Texan who feared neither man, beast or devil, had slapped its rump affectionately and refused to ride any other.
“If that damned nosey sheriff hits my trail on his long-legged bay I want old Silvertip under me,” he had said, “I don’t aim to decorate no records for him.”
“Are you saying you won’t obey me?” the boss had asked in a voice of ice.
“Yes, ma’am, in this particular instance.”
“Do you know Lawrence Arnold will soon be here?”
“Well?”
“You know what he can do to you?”
“Shore. But—I’ll risk it—for Silvertip.”
So he had deliberately mounted and the woman was thankful that none of the other riders had heard the insubordination.
Provine was invaluable, and she held her peace.