his force. Between town and the Spout lay the Circle Y and the Hashknife ranges; from these two he firmly believed he could recruit his strength and provision his outfit for a swift and deadly invasion of that narrow hallway of the mountains which was Zang Whistler's citadel.
"And this won't be Mister Von Tromp's notion of a kiss-in-the-corner game either," Original spoke his thoughts aloud. "Something going to bust and bust big!"
He walked swiftly down Main Street away from the direction of the courthouse and turned into the dark maw of the Fashion Stables, where his little horse Tige had a stall. The dim and hay-sweet interior was deserted. A single lantern hanging on a peg at the entrance to the alleyway of stalls threw a fitful light over the rumps of the nearest tethered horses. Original took down the lantern, by its light selected his saddle from those pegged along one wall, and walked to the stall where his four-footed chum was bedded. An affectionate nicker from Tige sent greeting to him before ever Original turned the stall post to give his little horse a pat on the flank.
Had Tige been gifted with speech he would
