"'"What for stakes do you-all aim to race for?"
demands this Cimmaron Pete.
"'"I'll run you for hoss an' saddle," says Glidden.
"'"Say hoss ag'in hoss," says Cimmaron Pete, "an' I'm liable to go
you. Saddles is hard to get, an' I won't resk mine. Ponies, however,
is easy. I can get 'em every moonlight night."
"'When them sports is racin',--which the run is to be a quarter of a
mile, only they never finishes,--jest as Cimmaron begins to pull
ahead, his pony bein' a shade suddener than Glidden's, whatever does
the latter do but rope this Cimmaron Pete's pony by the feet an'
down him.
"'It's shore fine work with a lariat, but it comes high for Glidden.
For, as he stampedes by, this Cimmaron turns loose his six-shooter
from where he's tangled up with his bronco on the ground; an' as the
first bullet gets Glidden in the back of his head, his light goes
out like a candle.
"'When the committee looks into the play they jestifies this
Cimmaron. "While on the surface," they says, "the deal seems a
little florid; still, when a gent armed with nothin' but a cold
sense of jestice comes to pirootin' plumb through the affair with a
lantern, he's due to emerge a lot with the conviction that Glidden's
wrong.
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