disposed of, his weather eye on the horse that was taking its deliberate breakfast in the corral beside the bunk-house. Simpson turned to him questioningly.
"Estimatin' by bundles, it's all there, lucky for you, pardner," Coburn announced. "What in the hell did you do with that horse of mine?"
"I gave him his head when I lost you, and he carried me home. But it turned out that he knew the road to the Ellison ranch better than here."
"If you're hintin' I stole that horse"
Simpson lifted a warning hand.
"That's a matter you'll have to discuss with Miss Eudora Ellison. She laid claim to the horse as stolen property, and held it. She loaned me that one to bring your possessions on to you, and as our business seems to be concluded, I'll be on my way back."
"You don't take that horse out of that krel, pardner, till you fetch me back my own!"
Coburn laid it down forcefully, red and raging, shaking a fist at Simpson, his humor not sweetened any by the loud whoop of laughter that burst from the livery stable driver when he heard about the horse carrying its rider to the wrong place.
That laugh was the first in a roar of merriment that would roll over the range at his expense, Coburn knew, for it was a joke such as a cowman would appreciate above all others. The man whom he had raised the hue and cry against as a thief had turned out honest as far as the money was involved, but the horse he had ridden had laid a charge of thievery at the cowman's own door.
