“Yeah, I know. But this is a horse. He’s plumb bad. If there’s any slip in the boys bein’ able to herd him away after he’s spilled yuh, he might tromp yuh.”
“But,” Jim Legg spoke softly, “I’ve got confidence in Oyster and Eskimo. They’ll do their part. If I can ride Cowcatcher, will you admit that I can ride?”
Johnny smiled softly. “I’ll admit that yore the best rider in the Blue Wells country.”
“All set!” called Eskimo. “Johnny, you pull the blind, after me and Oyster get all set, will yuh?”
Johnny held Cowcatcher while Jim Legg mounted. The rough-coated gray outlaw, which had defied the best riders of the Blue Wells ranges, stiffened slightly, but did not move. Oyster and Eskimo mounted and rode in on each side of him, prepared to block the bucker from heading into obstacles, and to herd him away from the rider, in case of a spill.
They did not see the sheriff, deputy and another rider swing around the corner of the corral and come toward them.
Jim Legg straightened up in his saddle, grasped the reins tightly and nodded to Johnny Grant.
Johnny reached up and grasped the bandage.
“Pull leather, Jimmy,” he said softly. “Don’t be ashamed to do it. It’s only fools and contest riders that don’t, when they feel themselves goin’.”
But Jim Legg shut his lips tightly and looked straight ahead. He had asked to ride Cowcatcher, after every half-way bucker on the AK had thrown him, and he was going to ride him, or get thrown clean.