asured out his
own drink. "Two or three of the train crew got busted up pretty bad.
They say----

"Aw, choke off! What the hell do I care what they say? Nor how bad
the train crew got busted up, nor how bad they didn't?" Purdy tapped
the bar with his glass as his black eyes fixed the other with a level
stare. "I came over fer a little talk with yeh, private. I'm a-goin'
to win that buckin' contest--an' yer goin' to help me--_sabe_?"

The bartender shook his head: "I don't know how I c'n help you none."

"Well yeh will know when I git through--same as Doc Godkins'll know
when I have a little talk with him. Yer both a-goin' to help, you an'
Doc. Yeh see, they was a nester's gal died, a year back, over on
Beaver Crick, an' Doc tended her. 'Tarford fever,' says Doc. But ol'
Lazy Y Freeman paid the freight, an' he thinks about as much of the
nesters as what he does of a rattlesnake. I was ridin' fer the Lazy Y
outfit, an' fer quite a spell 'fore this tarford fever business the ol'
man use to ride the barb wire along Beaver, reg'lar. Yeh know how
loose ol' Lazy Y is with his change? A dollar don't loom no bigger to
him than the side of Sugar Loaf Butte, an' it slips through his fingers
as easy as a porkypine could back out of a gunnysack. Well, that there
dose of tarford fever that the nester gal died of cost ol' Lazy Y jest
a even thousan' bucks. An' Doc Godkins got it."

The cowpuncher paused and the bartender picked up his glass. "Drink
up," he said, "an' have another. I do'no what yer talkin' about but
it's jest as bad to not have enough red licker in under yer belt when
y' go to make a ride as 'tis to have too much."

"Never yeh mind about the licker. I c'n reg'late my own drinks to suit
me. Mebbe I got more'n a ride a-comin' to me 'fore tonight's over."

The bartender eyed him questioningly: "You usta win 'em all--buckin',
an' ropin', an'----"

"Yes, I usta!" sneered the other. "An' I could now if it wasn't fer
that Texas son of a ----! Fer three years hand runnin' he's drug down
everything he's went into. He c'n out-rope me an' out-ride me, but he
can't out-guess me! An' some day he's goin' to have to out-shoot me.
I'm goin' to win the buckin' contest, an' the ropin', too. See?" The
man's fist pounded the bar.

The bartender nodded; "Well, here's _to_ you."

Once more Purdy fixed the man with his black-eyed stare. "Yes. But
they's a heap more a-comin' from you than a 'here's _to_ ye