As dark fell
they drew near a house snuggled away among a group of cottonwoods.
Here they determined to spend the night, for Calder's pony was now
almost exhausted. A man of fifty came from the house in answer to
their call and showed them the way to the horse-shed. While they
unsaddled their horses he told them his name was Sam Daniels, yet
he evinced no curiosity as to the identity of his guests, and they
volunteered no information. His eyes lingered long and fondly over the
exquisite lines of Satan. From behind, from the side, and in front, he
viewed the stallion while Dan rubbed down the legs of his mount with
a care which was most foreign to the ranges. Finally the cattleman
reached out a hand toward the smoothly muscled shoulders.
It was Calder who stood nearest and he managed to strike up Daniels's
extended arm and jerk him back from the region of danger.
"What'n hell is that for?" exclaimed Daniels.
"That horse is called Satan," said Calder, "and when any one save his
owner touches him he lives up to his name and raises hell."
Before Daniels could answer, the light of his lantern fell upon Black
Bart, hitherto half hidden by the deepening shadows of the night,
but standing now at the entrance of the shed.
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