“Shore,” said Curly.  “Why didn’t you tell me?  Say, ole Batty, he’s crazy to ketch a whole lot o’ hosses out’n a band o’ wild hosses down to the Beaver Creek.  He always a-wantin’ me to help him ketch them hosses.  Say, he’s got a lot o’ sassafiddity, somethin’ like that, an’ he says he’s goin’ to soak some corn in that stuff an’ set it out fer hosses.  Says it’ll make ’em loco, so’st you kin go right up an’ rope ’em.  Now, ain’t that the d——­dest fool thing yet?  Say, some o’ these pilgrims that comes out here ain’t got sense enough to last over night.”

“Battersleigh is fond of horses,” said Franklin, “and he’s a rider, too.”

“That’s so,” admitted Curly.  “He kin ride.  You orter see him when he gits his full outfit on, sword an’ pistol by his side, uh-huh!”

“He has a horse, then?”

“Has a boss?  Has a hoss—­has—­what?  Why, o’ course he has a boss.  Is there anybody that ain’t got a hoss?”

“Well, I haven’t,” said Franklin.

“You got this one,” said Curly.

“How?” said Frank, puzzled.

“Why, you won him.”

“Oh, pshaw!” said Franklin.  “Nonsense!  I wasn’t wrestling for your horse, only for a ride.  Besides, I didn’t have any horse put up against yours.  I couldn’t lose anything.”

“That’s so,” said Curly.  “I hadn’t thought of that.  Say, you seem like a white sort o’ feller.  Tell you what I’ll just do with you.  O’ course, I was thinkin’ you’d win the whole outfit, saddle an’ all.  I think a heap o’ my saddle, an’ long’s you ain’t got no saddle yet that you have got used to, like, it don’t make much difference to you if you get another saddle.  But you just take this here hoss along.  No, that’s all right.  I kin git me another back to the corral, just as good as this one.  Jim Parsons, feller on the big bunch o’ cows that come up from the San Marcos this spring, why, he got killed night before last.  I’ll just take one o’ his hosses, I reckon.  I kin fix it so’st you kin git his saddle, if you take a notion to it.”

Franklin looked twice to see if there was affectation in this calm statement, but was forced, with a certain horror, to believe that his new acquaintance spoke of this as a matter of fact, and as nothing startling.  He had made no comment, when he was prevented from doing so by the exclamation of the cowboy, who pointed out ahead.

“There’s Batty’s place,” said he, “an’ there’s Batty himself.  Git up, quick; git up, an’ ride in like a gentleman.  It’s bad luck to walk.”

Franklin laughed, and, taking the reins, swung himself into the saddle with the ease of the cavalry mount, though with the old-fashioned grasp at the cantle, with the ends of the reins in his right hand.

“Well, that’s a d——­d funny way gittin’ on top of a hoss,” said Curly.  “Are you ‘fraid the saddle’s goin’ to git away from you?  Better be ’fraid ’bout the hoss.—­Git up, Bronch!”