“You take that big roan, Ricky, and I’ll take th’ black. Slip th’ bridles off the other two and cut their cinches.”
It was but a moment’s work to slip the rigs off the extra horses, and then they mounted and moved off slowly in the shadow of the trees until they were behind the cottonwoods. Suddenly there was a shout from the cowboys and they knew their work had been discovered. Ricky pulled up his big roan and turned in the saddle.
“Walk, dang yuh, walk!” he yelled at the top of his voice and then, spurring their horses, they streaked off across the moonlit foothills in the general direction of Mill City, followed by a scattering volley of pistol-shots and unprintable remarks.
It was noon the next day when they rode into the little town of Mill City. They had taken the wrong road and had ridden miles out of their way before they met a person who set them on the right trail. They rode up in front of a Chinese restaurant and Ricky handed his reins to Zeb and slid painfully to the ground.
“I’ll order everything he’s got,” he announced. “You put them horses in a stable some place and hurry back. Gosh, I’m starved plumb to death.”
Zeb rode on up the street to the one livery-stable. He was too hungry and tired to take off the saddles so he left the horses outside.
“Unsaddle ’em and give ’em uh good feed,” he ordered the stable man, and then started back to the restaurant.
He had almost reached the door when he saw Ricky come out, propelled by a big bearded person, who whirled his partner around roughly and started down the street, shoving him by the shoulder. Ricky was protesting loudly and already several people were walking curiously toward them. Zeb quickened his pace until he was walking at Ricky’s side.
“What’s th’ trouble?” he asked.
“I’m arrested, that’s all!” exclaimed Ricky, and Zeb, acting on the spur of the moment and without any preliminary windup, whirled and smashed the officer on the jaw with his right.