ilt some day, joinin' east
an' west. It's interestin', but no sense to it. How could they build a
railroad through thet country?"

"North it ain't so cut up an' lumpy as here," put in Holley.

"Grandest idea ever thought of for the West," avowed Bostil. "If thet
railroad ever starts we'll all get rich.... Go on, Brack."

"Then Cordts said water an' grass was peterin' out back on the trail,
same as Red Wilson said last week. Finally he asked, 'How's my friend
Bostil?' I told him you was well. He looked kind of thoughtful then,
an' I knew what was comin'....'How's the King?' 'Grand' I told
him--'grand.' 'When is them races comin' off?' I said we hadn't planned
the time yet, but it would be soon--inside of a month or two.
'Brackton,' he said, sharp-like, 'is Bostil goin' to pull a gun on me
at sight?' 'Reckon he is,' I told him. 'Wal, I'm not powerful glad to
know thet.... I hear Creech's blue hoss will race the King this time.
How about it?' 'Sure an' certain this year. I've Creech's an' Bostil's
word for thet.' Cordts put his hand on my shoulder. You ought to 've
seen his eyes!...'I want to see thet race.... I'm goin' to.' 'Wal,' I
said, 'you'll have to stop bein'--You'll need to change your bizness.'
Then, Bostil, what do you think? Cordts was sort of eager an' wild. He
said thet was a race he jest couldn't miss. He swore he wouldn't turn a
trick or let a man of his gang stir a hand till after thet race, if
you'd let him come."

A light flitted across Bostil's face.

"I know how Cordts feels," he said.

"Wal, it's a queer deal," went on Brackton. "Fer a long time you've
meant to draw on Cordts when you meet. We all know thet."

"Yes, I'll kill him!" The light left Bostil's face. His voice sounded
differently. His mouth opened, drooped strangely at the corners, then
shut in a grim, tense line. Bostil had killed more than one man. The
memory, no doubt, was haunting and ghastly.

"Cordts seemed to think his word was guarantee of his good faith. He
said he'd send an Indian in here to find out if he can come to the
races. I reckon, Bostil, thet it wouldn't hurt none to let him come.
An' hold your gun hand fer the time he swears he'll be honest. Queer
deal, ain't it, men? A hoss-thief turnin' honest jest to see a race!
Beats me! Bostil, it's a cheap way to get at least a little honesty
from Cordts. An' refusin' might rile him bad. When all's said Cordts
ain't as bad as he could be."

"I'll let him come," replied B