“Doggone them boys, they ain’t got the stayin’ qualities I give ’em credit for having,” he remarked, holding up the match and looking across at Andy, humped disconsolately in the shadows. “Them Diamond G men has just about got ’em on the run, right now. Yuh couldn’t get a hundred-t’-one bet, down there.”
Andy merely grunted.
“Say,” asked the Old Man suddenly. “Didn’t yuh kinda mistake that blue roan for his twin brother, Pardner? This here cayuse is called Weaver. I tried t’ get hold of t’other one, but doggone ’em, they wouldn’t loosen up. Pardner wasn’t for sale at no price, but they talked me into buying the Weaver; they claimed he’s just about as good a horse, once he’s tamed down some—and I thought, seein’ I’ve got some real tamers on my pay-roll, I’d take a chance on him. I thought yuh knew the horse—the way yuh read up his pedigree—till I seen yuh mount him. Why, doggone it, yuh straddled him like yuh was just climbing a fence! Maybe yuh know your own business best—but didn’t yuh kinda mistake him for Pardner? They’re as near alike as two bullets run in the same mold—as far as looks go.”
Andy got up and went to the door, and stood looking down the dusk-muffled hill to the white blotch which was the camp; listened to the jumble of voices still upraised in fruitless argument, and turned to the Old Man.
“By gracious, that accounts for a whole lot,” he said ambiguously.
II
“I don’t see,” said Cal Emmett crossly, “what’s the use uh this whole outfit trailing up to that contest. If I was Chip, I’d call the deal off and start gathering calves. It ain’t as if we had a man to ride for that belt and purse. Ain’t your leg well enough to tackle it, Pink?”
“No,” Pink answered shortly, “it ain’t.”
“Riding the rough bunch they’ve rounded up for that contest ain’t going to be any picnic,” Weary defended his chum. “Cadwolloper would need two good legs to go up against that deal.”
“I wish Irish was here,” Pink gloomed. “I’d be willing to back him; all right. But it’s too late now; he couldn’t enter if he was here.”
A voice behind them spoke challengingly. “I don’t believe it would be etiquette for one outfit to enter two peelers. One’s enough, ain’t it?”
The Happy Family turned coldly upon the speaker. It was Slim who answered for them all. “I dunno as this outfit has got any peeler in that contest. By golly, it don’t look like it since las’ night!”
Weary was gentle, as always, but he was firm. “We kinda thought you’d want to withdraw,” he added.
Andy Green, tamer of wild ones, turned and eyed Weary curiously. One might guess, from telltale eyes and mouth, that his calmness did not go very deep. “I don’t recollect mentioning that I was busy penning any letter uh withdrawal,” he said. “I got my sights raised to that purse and that belt. I don’t recollect saying anything about lowering ’em.”
“Aw, gwan. I guess I’ll try for that purse, too! I betche I got as good a show as—”
“Sure. Help yourself, it don’t cost nothing. I don’t doubt but what you’d make a real pretty ride, Happy.” Andy’s tone was deceitfully hearty. He did not sound in the least as if he would like to choke Happy Jack, though that was his secret longing.
“Aw, gwan. I betche I could make as purty a ride as we’ve saw—lately.” Happy Jack did not quite like to make the thing too personal, for fear of what might happen after.
“Yuh mean last night, don’t yuh?” purred Andy.
“Well, by golly, I wish you’d tell us what yuh done it for!” Slim cut in disgustedly. “It was nacherlay supposed you could ride; we got money up on yuh! And then, by golly, to go and make a fluke like that before them Diamond G men—to go and let that blue roan pile yuh up b’fore he’d got rightly started t’ pitch—If yuh’d stayed with him till he got t’ swappin’ ends there, it wouldn’t uh looked quite so bad. But t’ go and git throwed down right in the start—By golly!” Slim faced Andy accusingly. “B’fore them Diamond G men—and I’ve got money up, by golly!”
“Yuh ain’t lost any money yet, have yuh?” Andy inquired patiently. What Andy felt like doing was to “wade into the bunch”; reason, however, told him that he had it coming from them, and to take his medicine, since he could not well explain just how it had happened. He could not in reason wonder that the faith of the Happy Family was shattered and that they mourned as lost the money they had already rashly wagered on the outcome of the contest. The very completeness of their faith in him, their very loyalty, seemed to them their undoing, for to them the case was plain enough. If Andy could not ride the blue roan in their own corral, how was he to ride that same blue roan in Great Falls? Or, if he could ride him, how could any sane man hope that he could win the purse and the belt under the stringent rules of the contest, where “riding on the spurs,” “pulling leather” and a dozen other things were barred? So Andy, under the sting of their innuendoes and blunt reproaches, was so patient as to seem to them cowed.
“No, I ain’t lost any yet, but by golly, I can see it fixin’ to fly,” Slim retorted heavily.
Andy looked around at the others, and smiled as sarcastically as was possible considering the mood he was in. “It sure does amuse me,” he observed, “to see growed men cryin’ before they’re hurt! By gracious, I expect t’ make a stake out uh that fall! I can get long odds from them Diamond Gs, and from anybody they get a chance to talk to. I’m kinda planning,” he lied boldly, “to winter in an orange grove and listen at the birds singing, after I’m through with the deal.”
“I reckon yuh can count on hearing the birds sing, all right,” Pink snapped back. “It’ll be tra-la-la for yours, if last night’s a fair sample uh what yuh expect to do with the blue roan.” Pink walked abruptly away, looking very much like a sulky cherub.
“I s’pose yuh’re aiming to give us the impression that you’re going to ride, just the same,” said Cal Emmett.
“I sure am,” came brief reply. Andy was beginning to lose his temper. He had expected that the Happy Family would “throw it into him,” to a certain extent, and he had schooled himself to take their drubbing. What he had not expected was their unfriendly attitude, which went beyond mere disappointment and made his offence—if it could be called that—more serious than the occasion would seem to warrant. Perhaps Jack Bates unwittingly made plain the situation when he remarked:
“I hate to turn down one of our bunch; we’ve kinda got in the habit uh hanging together and backing each other’s play, regardless. But darn it, we ain’t millionaires, none of us—and gambling, it is a sin. I’ve got enough up already to keep me broke for six months if I lose, and the rest are in about the same fix. I ain’t raising no long howl, Andy, but you can see yourself where we’re kinda bashful about sinking any more on yuh than what we have. Maybe you can ride; I’ve heard yuh can, and I’ve seen yuh make some fair rides, myself. But yuh sure fell down hard last night, and my faith in yuh got a jolt that fair broke its back. If yuh done it deliberate, for reasons we don’t know, for Heaven’s sake say so, and we’ll take your word for it and forget your rep for lying. On the dead, Andy, did yuh fall off deliberate?”
Andy bit his lip. His conscience had a theory of its own about truth-telling, and permitted him to make strange assertions at times. Still, there were limitations. The Happy Family was waiting for his answer, and he knew instinctively that they would believe him now. For a moment, temptation held him. Then he squared his shoulders and spoke truly.
“On the dead, I hit the ground unexpected and inadvertant. I—”
“If that’s the case, then the farther yuh keep away from that contest the better—if yuh