“If we had the chance,” said Lee Yung softly. “Not being a fool, he may not give us the chance. Still, one can never tell what the gods have written, and it is well to have a plan in mind, in case the gods should be kind to us.”
“The gods don’t mean much to me,” said the practical Baldy. “Just give me a chance. To hell with the gods.”
The hired men on the Tumbling H were never overworked. Big Medicine was no slave-driver, and let the cowboys plan out most of their own work. Musical opined that the corral needed a lot of repairs. He did not fancy riding around in the heat.
Cleve thought they really should investigate some of the water holes back in the hills. Ike thought that somebody ought to go to Pinnacle after the mail. Being of different minds, they let Ike go to town, while Cleve and Musical sat down at a four-handed poker game with Hashknife and Sleepy.
None of them having much money, they “owed” the game. It was uneventful, and lasted most of the day. In fact it lasted so long that they grew disgusted with each other, and finally went out to the corral, where they saddled a steer.
Steer riding may not sound eventful, but any bronc rider will tell you that a bucking steer is harder to stick to than a bucking horse. They solemnly drew straws to select a rider, and the lot fell to Sleepy, who protested that he had been framed.
“If you’re afraid——” suggested Musical.
“It ain’t that,” replied Sleepy. “It’s the principle of the thing.”
“It don’t look like it had much,” grinned Hashknife, looking the steer over.
It was a white-faced animal, long legged, evil eyed. Sleepy tightened his belt and spat reflectively.