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And I suppose, Balaam continued, still hot on the subject, youd claim Indians object to killing a white man when they run on to him good and far from human help? These peaceable Indians are just the worst in the business. Thats so, assented the easy-opinioned Shorty, exactly as if he had always maintained this view. Chap started for Sunk Creek three weeks ago. Trapper he was; old like, with a red shirt. One of his horses come into the round-up Toosday. Man aint been heard from. He ate in silence for a while, evidently brooding in his childlike mind. Then he said, querulously, Id sooner trust one of them Indians than I would Trampas. Balaam slanted his fat bullet head far to one side, and laying his spoon down (he had opened some canned grapes) laughed steadily at his guest with a harsh relish of irony. The guest ate a grape, and perceiving he was seen through, smiled back rather miserably. Say, Shorty, said Balaam, his head still slanted over, whats the figures of your bank balance just now? I aint usin banks, murmured the youth. Balaam put some more grapes on Shortys plate, and drawing a cigar from his waistcoat, sent it rolling to his guest. Matches are behind you, he added. He gave a cigar to the Virginian as an afterthought, but to his disgust, the Southerner put it in his pocket and lighted a pipe. Balaam accompanied his guest, Shorty, when he went to the pasture to saddle up and depart. Got a rope? he asked the guest, as they lifted down the bars. Dont need to rope him. I can walk right up to Pedro. You stay back. Hiding his bridle behind him, Shorty walked to the river-bank, where the-pony was switching his long tail in the shade; and speaking persuasively to him, he came nearer, till he laid his hand on Pedros dusky mane, which was many shades darker than his hide. He turned expectantly, and his master came up to his expectations with a piece of bread. Eats that, does he? said Balaam, over the bars. Likes the salt, said Shorty. Now, n-n-ow, here! Yu dont guess yull be bridled, dont you? Open your teeth! Yud like to play yu was nobodys horse and live private? Or maybe yud prefer ownin a saloon? Pedro evidently enjoyed this talk, and the dodging he made about the bit. Once fairly in his mouth, he accepted the inevitable, and followed Shorty to the bars. Then Shorty turned and extended his hand. Shake! he said to his pony, who lifted his forefoot quietly and put it in his masters hand. Then the master tickled his nose, and he wrinkled it and flattened his ears, pretending to bite. His face wore an expression of knowing relish over this performance. Now the other hoof, said Shorty; and the horse and master shook hands with their left. I learned him that, said the cowboy, with pride and affection. Say, Pede, he continued, in Pedros ear, aint yu the best little horse in the country? What? Here, now! Keep out of that, you dead-beat! There aint no more bread. He pinched the ponys nose, one quarter of which was wedged into his pocket. Quite a ladys little pet! said Balaam, with the rasp in his voice. Pity this isnt New York, now, where theres a big market for harmless horses. Gee-gees, the children call them. He aint no gee-gee, said Shorty, offended. Hell beat any cow-pony workin youve got. Yu can turn him on a half-dollar. Dont need to touch the reins. Hang em on one finger and swing your body, and hell turn. Balaam knew this, and he knew that the pony was only a four-year-old. Well, he said, Drybones had no circus this season. Maybe theyd buy tickets to see Pedro. Hes good for that, anyway. Shorty became gloomy. The Virginian was grimly smoking. Here was something else going on not to his taste, but none of his business. |
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