Even
Carara, disappointed in love, treated him with a smiling,
backward sort of courtesy which the trainer misconstructed as
timidity.
"I thought cowboys was tough guys," continued he, "but it's a
mistake. That little Willie, for instance, is a lamb. He packs
that Mauser for protection. He's afraid some farmer will walk up
and poke his eye out with a corn-cob. One copper with a night-
stick could stampede the whole outfit. But they're all right, at
that," he acknowledged, magnanimously. "They're a nice bunch of
fellers when you know how to take 'em."
"The flies are awful to-day," Speed complained. "They bite my
legs."
"I'll bring out a bath robe to-morrow, and we'll hide it in the
bushes. I wish there was some place to keep this beer cool."
Glass shifted some bottles to a point where the sunlight did not
strike them. "I'm getting tired of training, Larry," acknowledged
the younger man, with a yawn. "It takes so much time."
Glass shook his head in sympathy. "Seems like we'd ought to hear
from Covington," said he.
"He's on his way, no doubt.
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