In the meantime another man who had never before "irrigated" at
Morgan's place, rode up. His mount, like that of the tawny-haired
rider, was considerably larger and more finely built than the common
range horse. In three days of hard work a cattle pony might wear down
these blooded animals, but would find it impossible to either overtake
or escape them in a straight run. The second stranger, short-legged,
barrel-chested, and with a scrub of black beard, entered the barroom
while the crowd was still drinking the health of Morgan. He took a
corner chair, pushed back his hat until a mop of hair fell down his
forehead, and began to roll a cigarette. The man of the tawny hair
took the next seat.
"Seems to be quite a party, stranger," said the tall fellow
nonchalantly.
"Sure," growled he of the black beard, and after a moment he added:
"Been out on the trail long, pardner?"
"Hardly started."
"So'm I."
"As a matter of fact, I've got a lot of hard riding before me."
"So've I."
"And some long riding, too."
Perhaps it was because he turned his head suddenly towards the light,
but a glint seemed to come in the eyes of the bearded man.
"Long rides," he said more amiably, "are sure hell on hosses.
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