"
"What's his name?" asked the man on the Spanish mule softly.
"Cap Norris."
"Oh, ole Pap Norris, eh? Calls hisself Cap now, does he?"
"That's what he does, an' he's a derned ole skin."
"None skinnier. But where is he? I should like to see him."
"He's sashayin' around here som'er's attendin' ter his dirty work.
Lookin' after his grandson, little Willie, I reckon."
"What, is that thief still hangin' on to him?"
"Yes. I see you seem to know him."
"Know him! Well, I should gurgle I do know him. I thought every hoss man
in the country knew him. Little Willie, the orphaned grandson, is almost
old enough to be a grandfather himself. He's an outlawed jockey, an' he
an' Pap go about the country skinning countrymen and cow-punchers with
his fake races. He never won a square race in his life. I should say I
did know him. Here he comes now. Watch me wake him up."
The old fellow was bustling up to the crowd.
"See here, young fellow, get ther gal offen that hoss, he's mine, er as
good as mine in a moment.
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