The little animal sprang forward, tossing his head spiritedly.

Ferguson grinned and patted its flank with a remorseful hand.
"Well, now, Mustard," he said, "I wasn't reckonin' on takin' my spite out on you.

You don't expect I thought you was Leviatt." And he patted the flank again.
He rode down the long slope of the rise and struck the level, traveling at a slow lope through a shallow washout.

The ground was broken and rocky here and the snake-like cactus caught at his stirrup leathers.

A rattler warned from the shadow of some sage-brush and, remembering his previous experience, he paused long enough to shoot its head off.
"There," he said, surveying the shattered snake, "I reckon you ain't to blame for me bein' bit by your uncle or cousin, or somethin', but I ain't never goin' to be particular when I see one of your family swingin' their head that suggestive." He rode on again, reloading his pistol.