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They would have called for him to "Look out!" and the cowboy would have kept away from the animal. But it was different with Trouble. To him one horse was like another. He liked them all, and he never thought any of them would kick or bite him. The bucking bronco was most dangerous of all. "Oh, Trouble!" exclaimed Janet softly. "I I'll get him!" whispered Teddy.
He was only stunned, and twenty-four hours later his intellect was undisturbed. There was no operation; free suppuration with discharges of fragments of skull and broken-down substance ensued for four weeks, when the wounds closed kindly, and recovery followed. Angle records the case of a cowboy who was shot by a comrade in mistake.
She had hair like golden-rod and eyes as blue as flax, and a complexion of such health and cleanliness and dewiness as blooms only on trained nurses. She was so lovely that Redding swung his hooded camera at her as swiftly as a cowboy could have covered her with his gun.
The Little Doctor was somewhere he never seemed to know just where, nowadays and the house was lonesome as an isolated peak in the Bad Lands. "I wish I had the making of the laws. I'd put a bounty on all the darn fools that think they can write cowboy stories just because they rode past a roundup once, on a fast train," he growled, reaching for his tobacco sack. "Huh!
Three minutes later he suddenly caught Bob's sleeve. "Wait up!" he whispered. "There's somebody talking to our guide right now; and say, Bob, don't you recognize the fellow?" "If I didn't think it was silly I'd say it was old Spanish Joe, the cowboy we had so much trouble with on Thunder Mountain," Bob declared, crouching down.
"I didn't think it was well; but apparently he did, because he asked me to marry him." Ashley bounded. "Who? That that cowboy!" "Yes; if he is a cowboy." "And you took money from him?" Her elbows rested on the arm of her chair; the tip of her chin on the back of her bent fingers. Without taking her eyes from his she inclined her head slowly in assent.
She recalled the scene at the Notch: the sickening sway of the car; the heavy, brutal features of the bandit, who seemed to have risen from the ground; the unexpected appearance of the young cowboy, the flash of his rope, and a struggling form whirling through the brush. And she had said "please" when she had asked the young cowboy to let the man go. He had refused.
Now, as the homesteader leaped back in sudden alarm, they closed in on him with their revolvers drawn. There was the sound of a third man trying the back door at the same time, and the disguised cowboy at the gate slung his weapon out and sent a wild shot into the lintel above Macdonald's head.
He had not waited long before the cowboy, riding stealthily, reappeared at the arroyo's mouth. Instantly the race was on. Tossing his fine head in the air and switching haughtily his splendid tail, Black Eagle laid his course in a direction which took him away from his sheltered band. Pounding along behind came the cowboy, urging to utmost endeavor the tough little mustang which he rode.
Sally's eyes changed from blank gulfs to dilating, shadowing, quickening windows of thought. "Russ-ell Archi-bald Sittell," she echoed. "Ranger! Secret aid to Steele!" "Yes." "Then you're no cowboy?" "No." "Only a make-believe one?" "Yes." "And the drinking, the gambling, the association with those low men that was all put on?" "Part of the game, Sally. I'm not a drinking man.
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