One of them carried a canvas sack containing tools and horseshoes.

As he dropped it with a metallic clink the mustang snorted and jumped and rolled the whites of his eyes.

He knew what that clink meant.
"Miss Collie, air you-all goin' to sit up thar ?" inquired the taller cowboy, a lean, supple, and powerful fellow, with a rough, red-blue face, hard as a rock, and steady, bright eyes.
"I sure am, Jim," she replied, imperturbably.
"But we've gotta hawg-tie him," protested the cowboy.
"Yes, I know.

And you're going to be gentle about it." Jim scratched his sandy head and looked at his comrade, a little gnarled fellow, like the bleached root of a tree.

He seemed all legs.
"You hear, you Wyomin' galoot," he said to Jim.