“Not particularly,” Skinny replied; “he don’t bother with them, that’s all.”

“I think he went after that Gold Dust maverick,” Charley said.  “He’ll probably come in when he sees how it’s going to storm—­”

“He don’t give a darn for storms,” Bert declared. “—­Pass them frijoles, Pedro.—­Remember that time it blowed the hay derrick down and he wouldn’t come to the house, just stayed out and watched the wind and lightning?”

“He is funny that way,” Charley admitted.

“Well, he’ll never catch that mare,” Parker said, “she’s too—­”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Chuck interrupted, “look how he has tamed Captain Jack,” referring to the Ramblin’ Kid’s own horse, one time a famous renegade.

“How was that?” Carolyn June inquired carelessly.

“Captain Jack was an outlaw, too,” Bert explained.  “He run over on the East Mesa on the Una de Gata.  Charley and me and th’ Ramblin’ Kid got him to going one day when there was some ranch mares in his bunch.  One of them was a hand-raised filly, was a pet and she was—­well, pretty hot!  We worked them over the rim of the Mesa and into the canyon, it was a box-gorge from where they hit it to its head, and at the upper end there was a wing corral.  The mare swung up the canyon towards the ranch and—­Jack wouldn’t quit her!  We was pounding right on their heels and before he knowed it we had them penned—­”

“That shows what happens when a he-thing goes locoed over a female critter,” Chuck whispered to Parker; “you and Old Heck want to watch out!”

“Be careful, you danged fool!” Parker hissed as he kicked at Chuck’s shins under the table.  Excited, he made a mistake in the foot he should have used and viciously slammed his left toe against Ophelia’s dainty ankle.

The widow looked startled and suddenly sat up very straight in her chair.

Parker realized his error, turned red, choked, leaned close to Chuck and breathed hoarsely, “I’ll kill you some day for that!”

“He sure went crazy when he found he was corraled,” Charley said, “and forgot all about the mare.”

“He sure did,” Bert continued, while Carolyn June listened intently, “and was plumb wild to bu’st down the pen and be free again.  Charley nor me didn’t want him and so th’ Ramblin’ Kid said he’d take him.  Just then Tony Malush—­we was punchin’ for him—­come riding up and was going to shoot Captain Jack on account of wanting to clean the range of the outlaw stallions.  He yanked out his gun and started to pull a drop on old Jack’s head.  Th’ Ramblin’ Kid jerked his own forty-four and told Tony he’d kill him if he shot the renegade broncho.  Tony backed up, but it made him sore and he fired th’ Ramblin’ Kid.  The darned little cuss set there a minute thinking, then slid off his horse, stripped him of riding gear, flung saddle, blanket and bridle over the bars into the corral.  Before we knowed what he was aiming to do he climbed up and dropped down inside, on foot, with just his rope, and faced that outlaw battin’ around trying to get outside—­”