Meanwhile, Briscoe waited for Struve and his enemy to become entangled in the net he was spinning. He made no pretense of fellowship with Fraser; nor, on the other hand, did he actively set himself against him with the men. He was ready enough to sneer when Dick France grew enthusiastic about his new friend, but this was to be expected from one of his jaundiced temper.
“Who is this all-round crackerjack you're touting, Dick?” he asked significantly.
France was puzzled. “Who is he? Why, he's Steve Fraser.”
“I ain't asking you what his name is. I'm asking who he is. What does he do for a living? Who recommended him so strong to the boys that they take up with him so sudden?”
“I don't care what he does for a living. Likely, he rides the range in Texas. When it comes to recommendations, he's got one mighty good one written on his face.”
“You think so, do you?”
“That's what I think, Jed. He's the goods—best of company, a straight-up rider, and a first-rate puncher. Ask any of the boys.”
“I'm using my eyes, Dick. They tell me all I need to know.”
“Well, use them to-morrow. He's going to take a whirl at riding Dead Easy. Next day he's going to take on Rocking Horse. If he makes good on them, you'll admit he can ride.”
“I ain't saying he can't ride. So can you. If it's plumb gentle, I can make out to stick on a pony myself.”