Not a pill doctor, but a knife man. Bring the car clean back
here to the range. To hell with the chances."
Winthrop slipped into his coat and filled a canteen.
"If that horse throws me--" he began.
"You got to ride. You _got_ to, understand? I dassent leave him."
Down in the meadow Overland saddled the pony Yuma. He mounted and she
had her "spell" of bucking. "Now, take her and ride," said Overland.
"After you hit the level, let her out and hang on. If any one tries to
stick you up this time--why, jest nacherally _plug_ 'em. Sabe?"
Winthrop nodded.
Two hours later a wild-eyed, sweating pony tore through the desert town
at a run. Her rider slid to the ground as the liveryman grabbed the
pony's bridle.
"Take--care--of her," gasped Winthrop. "I want--the machine."
"Anybody hurt?"
"Yes. Who did that?"
Winthrop stood with mouth open and eyes staring. The tires of the big
machine were flat.
"I dunno. I watched her every day. I sleep here nights. Las' Sunday I
was over to Daggett."
"And left no one in charge?"
"The boy was here."
"Well--the job is done. Take care of the horse. I'll be back in a
minute."
At the station Winthrop wired for a special car and engine.
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