"One man an' a half," murmured Mr. Cassidy, it being in his creed
that it took four Mexicans to make one Texan.
In the far corner of the room were two bronchos, one of which tried
in vain to kick Mr. Cassidy, not realizing that he was ten feet away.
The noise awakened the sleepers, who sat up and then sprang to their
feet, their hands instinctively streaking to their thighs for the
weapons which peeked contentedly from the bosom of Mr. Cassidy's open
shirt. One of the Mexicans made a lightning-like grab for the back of
his neck for the knife which lay along his spine and was shot in the
front of his neck for his trouble. The shot spoiled his aim, as the
knife flashed past Mr. Cassidy's arm, wide by two feet, and thudded
into the door frame, where it hummed angrily.
"The only man who could do that right was th' man who invented it,
Mr. Bowie, of Texas," explained Mr. Cassidy to the other Mexican. Then
he glanced at the broncho, that was squealing in rage and fear at the
shot, which sounded like a cannon in the small room, and laughed.
"That's my cayuse, all right, an' he wasn't up no cactus nor
roostin' on th' roof, neither. He's th' most affectionate beast I ever
saw. It took me nigh onto six months afore I could ride him without
fighting him to a standstill," said Mr. Cassidy to his guest. Then he
turned to the horse and looked it over.
Pages:
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176