“I said that, didn’t I? Well, that goes as she lays. Somebody on Willer Crick has got Buddy, and I’m goin’ to start in at the foot and work my way up, and I’m goin’ to git that kid if I have to fill —— with Willer Crickers.”
Glory nods like she knowed Hashknife meant it.
“Loan me a horse and saddle?” I asks.
“No,” says Glory, “I won’t loan you a horse, but there’s several out in the corral and there’s a couple of saddles hanging in the shed. I can’t stop you from taking what you want, can I?”
Me and Hashknife starts for the corral.
“That roan out there can run all day,” yells Glory. “He don’t look it, but he’s the best bronc in this country.”
“I hate to take things like this by force,” says Hashknife serious-like. “It ain’t right to intimidate a lady thataway.”
“You’re a pair of brutes,” says Glory. “Pick on somebody your own size.”
I don’t know whether Glory was kidding about that bronc or not. It bucked over the corral fence with me, bucked for half a mile faster than Hashknife’s animal could run. After that it was a pretty good animal. We headed straight for town.