an active one. He had attempted the solution of a certain
"Every ranch loves his horses," said Belding. "When I was in the Panhandle I had some fine stock. But these are Mexican. They came from Durango, where they were bred. Mexican horses are the finest in the world, bar none."
"Shore I reckon I savvy why you don't sleep nights," drawled Laddy. "I see a Greaser out there--no, it's an Indian."
"That's my Papago herdsman. I keep watch over the horses now day and night. Lord, how I'd hate to have Rojas or Salazar--any of those bandit rebels--find my horses!...Gale, can you ride?"
Dick modestly replied that he could, according to the Eastern idea of horsemanship.
"You don't need to be half horse to ride one of that bunch. But over there in the other field I've iron-jawed broncos I wouldn't want you to tackle--except to see the fun. I've an outlaw I'll gamble even Laddy can't ride."
"So. How much'll you gamble?" asked Laddy, instantly.
The ringing of a bell, which Belding said was a call to supper, turned the men back toward the house. Facing that way, Gale saw dark, beetling ridges rising from the oasis and leading up to bare, black mountains. He had heard Belding call them No Name Mountains, and somehow the appellation suited those lofty, mysterious, frowning peaks.
It was not until they reached the house and were about to go in that Belding chanced to discover Gale's crippled hand.
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