Skinner's face was hard, his lips thin, his jaw was
not that of a weakling. He had dressed early, then wrapped a
horse-blanket about his shoulders, and now, casting this aside,
sprinted down the dirt track for a few yards to test the footing,
while Gallagher watched him with satisfaction--a thing of steel
and wire, as tough, as agile, and as spirited as a range-raised
cow-pony. He was unshaven, his running-trunks were cut from a
pair of overalls, held up at the waist by a section of window-
cord, and his chest was scantily covered by an undershirt from
which the sleeves had been pulled. But when he returned to pick
up his blanket Gallagher noted approvingly that he was not even
breathing heavily. With a knowledge confined mainly to live-
stock, the foremen inquried:
"How's your laigs? I like to see 'em hairy, that-a-way; it's a
sign of stren'th. I bet this college boy is as pink as a maiden's
palm! He don't look to me like he could run."
"They fool you sometimes," said Skinner. "By-the-way, what have
you bet?"
"We laid the phonograph agin their treasures an' trappin's--"
"But how much money?"
"We got three hundred pesos down, but they sent word they was
comin' loaded for b'ar, so we rustled five hundred more.
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