Saddle him, boys!"
He gestured carelessly, and his two attendants started toward the
corral, one with a heavy saddle and one with a rope. As he stood
rolling his cigarette and watching negligently, he impressed Bull as a
veritable knight of the ranges, a baron with baronial adherents. It
came partly from his splendid stature, and more from his flauntingly
rich costume. The heavy gold braid on the sombrero, the gilded spurs,
the brilliant silk shirt would have been out of place on another man,
but they fit in with Hal Dunbar. They were adjuncts to the pride of
his face. Bull's attention wavered to Tod.
"Are--are they going to rope Diablo?"
Tod flashed a half-disgusted, half-despairing glance up at his
companion.
"What d'you think they're going to do? What do you think?"
Bull turned away, sick hearted. He could not bear the thought of the
great stallion struggling helpless in the snaky coils of the rope. But
of course there was no other way. Yet his muscles tightened, and the
perspiration poured out on his forehead as he heard a shout from one
of the men, then a brief drumming of Diablo's hoofs, and finally the
heavy thud as the stallion struck full length on the ground.
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