“Wal, y’u ain’t drunk, I reckon,” replied the rustler, with sarcasm. “But y’u’re shore some things I’ll reserve for your private ear.”
Jorth gained a semblance of composure. But it was evident that he labored under a shock.
“Ellen, did Jean Isbel see this black horse?”
“Yes. He asked me how I got Spades an’ I told him.”
“Did he say Spades belonged to him?”
“Shore I reckon he, proved it. Y’u can always tell a horse that loves its master.”
“Did y’u offer to give Spades back?”
“Yes. But Isbel wouldn’t take him.”
“Hah! ... An’ why not?”
“He said he’d rather I kept him. He was about to engage in a dirty, blood-spilling deal, an’ he reckoned he’d not be able to care for a fine horse.... I didn’t want Spades. I tried to make Isbel take him. But he rode off.... And that’s all there is to that.”