Soon one of them asked the other what had become of a certain horse, a
noted cutting pony, which I had myself noticed the preceding fall. The
question aroused the other to the memory of a wrong which still rankled,
and he began (I alter one or two of the proper names):
"Why, that was the pony that got stole. I had been workin' him on rough
ground when I was out with the Three Bar outfit and he went tender
forward, so I turned him loose by the Lazy B ranch, and when I came back
to git him there wasn't anybody at the ranch and I couldn't find him.
The sheep-man who lives about two miles west, under Red Clay butte,
told me he seen a fellow in a wolfskin coat, ridin' a pinto bronco, with
white eyes, leadin' that pony of mine just two days before; and I hunted
round till I hit his trail and then I followed to where I'd reckoned he
was headin' for--the Short Pine Hills. When I got there a rancher told
me he had seen the man pass on towards Cedartown, and sure enough when
I struck Cedartown I found he lived there in a 'dobe house, just outside
the town.
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