“That was just an ordinary bucker,” said Ralston. “Any puncher can ride a half-broke bucker. Lots of the boys in this country think they’re riders, but when it comes to fannin’ the real buckers—they don’t show much. You wait until we have another rodeo, and I’ll show yuh some ridin’.”
“Yeah, he’s a good rider,” said Honey, still fussing with his latigo. “Awful good rider. I shouldn’t be surprized if he’s half as good as he thinks he is. Ridin’ broncs makes folks talk thataway. Of course, us ord’nary punchers don’t go lookin’ for glory in the bronc corral, so we never do get shook up very bad. But you can tell them good riders every time. They’re kinda buck-drunk, as yuh might say. They ain’t very tight-brained to begin with, and all that shock and jerk soon gits the inside of their heads kinda rattly.
“Oh, they’re all right, as far as that goes. Nobody expects ’em to do anythin’ but ride buckers. But they don’t know it, and the way them p’fessional bronc riders do talk! Mebbe they ain’t so much to blame, at that; but everythin’ is ‘I’ with ’em. Rodeos are all right, I s’pose. Folks get a lot of fun out of it; but them buckin’ contests shore do bring in undesirable citizens.”
Honey had spoken so earnestly that Laura Hatton did not realize he was talking about Jack Ralston.
But Jack Ralston knew. He got to his feet, glaring at Honey, who paid no attention to him at all. He adjusted the split-ear headstall of his bridle, looked it over critically and came over to the steps. Ralston glanced from Honey to Laura and then shot a glance at Jim Wheeler, who, in spite of the misery in his soul, was trying to stifle a laugh.
“Well, I’ll be goin’,” said Ralston. “Good day.”
Honey twisted his mouth into a wide grin as he watched Ralston ride away.
“He is very entertaining,” said Laura.
“Who—Jack?” Honey grinned widely. “Liars mostly always are.”
Jim Wheeler laughed and went into the house, for which Honey thanked him mentally. Honey sat down on the steps, cuffed his hat to the back of his head and sighed deeply.