It was about this time when Winston stood shivering a little with the
bridle of a big black horse in his hand just outside the door of his
homestead. A valise and two thick blankets were strapped to the
saddle, and he had donned the fur cap and coat Courthorne usually wore.
Courthorne himself stood close by smiling at him sardonically.
"If you keep the cap down and ride with your stirrups long, as I've
fixed them, anybody would take you for me," said he. "Go straight
through the settlement, and let any man you come across see you. His
testimony would come in useful if Stimson tries to fix a charge on me.
You know your part of the bargain. You're to be Lance Courthorne for a
fortnight from to-day."
"Yes," said Winston dryly. "I wish I was equally sure of yours."
Courthorne laughed. "I'm to be rancher Winston until to-morrow night,
any way. Don't worry about me. I'll borrow those books of yours and
improve my mind. Possible starvation is the only thing that threatens
me, and it's unfortunate you've left nothing fit to eat behind you."
Winston swung himself into the saddle, a trifle awkwardly, for
Courthorne rode with longer stirrup leathers than he was accustomed to,
then he raised one hand, and the other man laughed a little as he
watched him sink into the darkness of the shadowy prairie. When the
drumming of hoofs was lost in the moaning of the wind he strode towards
the stable, and taking up the lantern surveyed Winston's horse
thoughtfully.
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