Pete noticed that the animal carried Brevoort's saddle.
Evidently there was to be more hard riding. As Pete entered the big
room, he also noticed that Brevoort was heavily armed, and carried an
extra belt of cartridges. Brent was examining a rifle when Pete
stepped in. "You may need this," said Brent, handing the rifle and
scabbard to Pete. "Go over to the bunk-house and get another belt and
some shells."
When Pete returned, Blue Smoke was in the corral and his own saddle was
on a big bay that looked like a splendid running-mate for Brevoort's
mount. Pete busied himself slinging the rifle, curious as to what his
new venture would or could be, yet too proud to show that he was
interested.
Brevoort, hitching up his belt, swung to his horse. Without hesitation
Pete followed. Well-fed, eager and spirited, the horses lunged out
into the open and settled into a long, swinging stride--a gait that was
new to Pete, accustomed as he was to the shorter, quick action of the
cow-pony.
They rode south, across the sunlit expanse of emptiness between the
hacienda and the line.
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