“Steady li’l bronks.”
The cowboy sat on his heels some distance in front of the horses and puffed away at his cigaret. Ricky got one good whiff of that cigaret and then took one long step and dove straight for the unsuspecting cowboy. Ricky’s right arm described a short arc as he plunged, and the cowboy rolled over without a sound.
Ricky got up and rolled him over and felt of his heart.
“Fine work!” he exclaimed. “That loaded quirt I took off that saddle was jist th’ thing, Zeb. Look what I got.”
He held up a sack of tobacco and a book of cigaret-papers.
“And that ain’t all either,” he continued. “I found this roll uh bills in th’ same pocket and——”
“Ricky, we ain’t thieves,” stated Zeb.
“Not any,” agreed Ricky. “But, Zeb, this ain’t stealin’. Somebody’s got to pay th’ freight, and it’s uh cinch that I ain’t goin’ to search fer Watts to collect uh few days’ pay. We simply got to have uh little money and if it eases yore mind any, Zeb, you can consider this my money, sabe?”
“They’re comin’ back, Ricky!”
Loud voices raised in a heated argument floated across the sage-brush flat and coming closer all the time.