from the tough range-riders. He did not belong with the outfit, but had
joined it the day before with George Doble, a half-brother of the trail
foreman, to travel with it as far as Malapi. In the Southwest he was
known as Ad Miller. The two men had brought with them in addition to
their own mounts a led pack-horse.

Doble backed up his partner. "Sure are, Buck. I can get cowponies for ten
and fifteen dollars--all I want of 'em," he said, and contrived by the
lift of his lip to make the remark offensive.

"Not ponies like Chiquito," ventured Sanders amiably.

"That so?" jeered Doble.

He looked at David out of a sly and shifty eye. He had only one. The
other had been gouged out years ago in a drunken fracas.

"You couldn't get Chiquito for a hundred dollars. Not for sale," the
owner of the horse said, a little stiffly.

Miller's fat paunch shook with laughter. "I reckon not--at that price.
I'd give all of fohty for him."

"Different here," replied Doble. "What has this pinto got that makes him
worth over thirty?"

"He's some bronc," explained Bob Hart. "Got a bagful of tricks, a nice
disposition, and sure can burn the wind."

"Yore friend must be valuin' them parlor tricks at ten dollars apiece,"