‘Got to take a chance that some puncher will ride along here,’ he told Rex. ‘We’re hung up until somebody shows up and gets us some help.’
Bunty was afraid to leave the stage. He had a fairly large load of stuff for Mesa City, the mail and express. It was in his charge, and he was most surely not going to leave it in charge of Rex. He considered Rex mildly insane.
The sun went down and the air grew chill, but no one came along. It was growing dark when Bunty got an idea.
‘Can you ride a horse?’ he asked.
‘I never have,’ replied Rex.
‘Well, you’re old enough. I’ll tell yuh what we’ll do. That off leader of mine is broke to ride. We’ll take off the harness and you can ride to Mesa City. Go to the stage office, tell ’em what happened, and they can come down here with a rig to haul this stuff in.’
‘I don’t know whether I can ride or not,’ said Rex dubiously. ‘But I’ll do the best I can, Mr. Smith.’
‘That’ll be fine, Mr. Morgan. By Gad, though, if you don’t quit callin’ me Mr. Smith, I’ll run yore hocks off. My name is Bunty. Mr. Smith was my father’s name.’
‘My first name is Rex.’
‘Wrecks? Fittin’ title. Brother, you almost had my whole outfit named after yuh.’