The bartender eyed him questioningly:  “You usta win ’em all—­buckin’, an’ ropin’, an’——­”

“Yes, I usta!” sneered the other.  “An’ I could now if it wasn’t fer that Texas son of a ——!  Fer three years hand runnin’ he’s drug down everything he’s went into.  He c’n out-rope me an’ out-ride me, but he can’t out-guess me!  An’ some day he’s goin’ to have to out-shoot me.  I’m goin’ to win the buckin’ contest, an’ the ropin’, too.  See?” The man’s fist pounded the bar.

The bartender nodded; “Well, here’s to you.”

Once more Purdy fixed the man with his black-eyed stare.  “Yes.  But they’s a heap more a-comin’ from you than a ‘here’s to yeh.’”

“Meanin’?” asked the other, as he mechanically swabbed the bar.

“Meanin’ that you an’ Doc’s goin’ to help me do it.  An’ that hain’t all.  Tonight ’long ‘bout dance time I want that saddle horse o’ yourn an’ yer sideways saddle, too.  They’s a gal o’ mine come in on the train, which she’ll be wantin’, mebbe, to take a ride, an’ hain’t fetched no split-up clothes fer to straddle a real saddle.  That sideways contraption you sent fer ‘fore yer gal got to ridin’ man-ways is the only one in Wolf River, an’ likewise hern’s the only horse that’ll stand fer bein’ rigged up in it.”

“Sure.  You’re welcome to the horse an’ saddle, Jack.  The outfit’s in the livery barn.  Jest tell Ross to have him saddled agin’ you want him.  He’s gentled down so’s a woman c’n handle him all right.”

“Uh, huh.  An’ how about the other?  Y’goin’ to do as I say ’bout that, too?”

The bartender opened a box behind him and selected a cigar which he lighted with extreme deliberation.  “I told you onct I don’t know what yer talkin’ about.  Lazy Y Freeman an’ Doc Godkins’s dirty work ain’t none of my business.  If you win, you win, an’ that’s all there is to it.”

The cowpuncher laughed shortly, and his black eyes narrowed, as he leaned closer.  “Oh, that’s all, is it?  Well, Mr. Cinnabar Joe, let me tell yeh that hain’t all—­by a damn sight!” He paused, but the other never took his eyes from his face.  “Do yeh know what chloral is?” The man’s voice lowered to a whisper and the words seemed to hiss from between his lips.  The other shook his head.  “Well, it’s somethin’ yeh slip into a man’s licker that puts him to sleep.”

“You mean drug?  Dope!” The bartender’s eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth whitened where it gripped the cigar.

Purdy nodded:  “Yes.  It don’t hurt no one, only it puts ’em to sleep fer mebbe it’s three er four hours.  I’ll get some from Doc an’ yer goin’ to slip a little into Tex Benton’s booze.  Then he jest nach’lly dozes off an’ the boys thinks he’s spliflicated an’ takes him down to the hotel an’ puts him to bed, an’ before he wakes up I’ll have the buckin’ contest, an’ the ropin’ contest, an’ most of the rest of it in my war-bag.  I hain’t afraid of none of the rest of the boys hornin’ in on the money—­an’ ’tain’t the money I want neither; I want to win them contests particular—­an’ I’m a-goin’ to.”