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 "It's beginnin' to rain like hell," said Dan, the two of them standing at the foot of the ladder, looking around the gloomy stable, now quite dusky in the lowering evening.

"Open the door a minute—le's take a look at 'em," Noah directed.

The open door lighted up fairly well the immediate vicinity of the two, even relieving the gloom in the stall where Simpson crouched.

"Purty damn fine bunch of 'em this time," Dan said.

They came slowly down the aisle between the rows of stalls, looking the horses over critically.

"Yeah, but some of them homesteader plugs won't bring more 'n thirty dollars. I thought two of 'em'd peter out before we got 'em here."

"Them Block E horses 'll fetch sixty to sixty-five—two of 'em down there 'll shave nearer seventy-five apiece," Dan said. "That bay mare and the geldin' next to her—damn his old eyes! he's a wild devil—he's the feller that made all them breaks to turn back. He's the hardest horse to drive I ever drove in a bunch of horses."

"I'll cool him; I'll slap a saddle on him after I eat and ride over to the ranch and let the old lady know we're here. We can take the bunch of 'em over in the morning—give 'em time to blow a little. That was a damn hard drive we made, pardner."

"You know it!" said Dan. "This is the cuss that wanted to go back to Kansas."

They came loafing along, stopping at the stall into which Simpson had dropped through the window, next to