“I sure will,” he answered, and turned his eyes toward the flats.  This was to be his night, his last on the Wolf River range, he realized savagely.  In the morning he must ride very far away.  For before the eyes of all Wolf River he had swallowed an insult.  And the man knew that Wolf River knew why he did not shoot.

CHAPTER VI

THE RIM OF THE BENCH

Out on the flat the Texan was riding “straight up” amid a whirl of white dust.

“Fan him, Tex!”

“Stay with him!”

The cries of the cowboys cut high above the chorus of yelling applause as the furious outlaw tried every known trick to unseat the rider.  High in the air he bucked, swapping ends like a flash, and landing with all four feet “on a dollar,” his legs stiff as jack-pine posts.  The Texan rode with one hand gripping the hackamore rope and the other his quirt which stung and bit into the frenzied animal’s shoulders each time he hit the ground.  In a perfect storm of fury the horse plunged, twisted, sunfished, and bucked to free himself of the rider who swayed easily in the saddle and raked him flank and sides with his huge rowelled spurs.

“Stay a long time!”

“Scratch him, Tex!” yelled the delighted cowpunchers.

Suddenly the yells of appreciation gave place to gasps even from the initiated, as the rage-crazed animal leaped high into the air and throwing himself backward, crashed to the ground squarely upon his back.  As the dust cloud lifted the Texan stood beside him, one foot still in the stirrup, slashing right and left across the struggling brute’s ears with his braided quirt.  The outlaw leaped to his feet with the cowboy in the saddle and the crowd went wild.  Then with the enthusiasm at its height, the man jerked at his hackamore knot, and the next moment the horse’s head was free and the rider rode “on his balance” without the sustaining grip on the hackamore rope to hold him firm in his saddle.  The sudden loosening of the rawhide thongs gave the outlaw new life.  He sunk his head and redoubled his efforts, as with quirt in one hand and hackamore in the other the cowboy lashed his shoulders while his spurs raked the animal to a bloody foam.  Slower and slower the outlaw fought, pausing now and then to scream shrilly as with bared teeth and blazing eyes he turned this way and that, sucking the air in great blasts through his blood-dripping nostrils.

At last he was done.  Conquered.  For a moment he stood trembling in every muscle, and as he sank slowly to his knees, the Texan stepped smiling from the saddle.

“Sometime, Slim,” he grinned as he reached for his tobacco and papers, “if you-all can get holt of a horse that ain’t plumb gentle, I’ll show you a real ride.”

All about was the confusion attendant to the breaking-up of the crowd.  Men yelled at horses as they hitched them to the wagons.  Pedestrians, hurrying with their tickets toward the saloons, dodged from under the feet of cowboys’ horses, and the flat became a tangle of wagons with shouting drivers.