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Under a star-strewn sky he circled the sleeping herd, humming softly a stanza of a cowboy song. Occasionally he met Billie Prince or Tim McGrath circling in the opposite direction. The scene was peaceful as old age and beautiful as a fairy tale. For under the silvery light of night the Southwest takes on a loveliness foreign to it in the glare of the sun.
"Wish I'd been there." The student fumbled for a card. "Didn't catch your name?" Clay had no intention of giving his name just now to any casual stranger. He laughed and hummed the chorus of an old range ditty: "I'm a poor lonesome cowboy, I'm a poor lonesome cowboy, I'm a poor lonesome cowboy, And a long way from home."
"If he needs any help there's plenty of it here," said a cowboy from the Nation, hooking his thumb with lazy but expressive movement under the cartridge belt around his slim waist. The fat publican subsided, seeing his little ripple of protest flattened out by the spirit of fair play.
Roosevelt despised dueling as a silly practice, which would not determine justice between disputants; but he knew that in Cowboy Land the duel, being regarded as a test of courage, must not be ignored by him. Any man who declined a challenge lost caste and had better leave the country at once.
None of that!" warned the other sharply. "Hands up!" And Coquenil obeyed. "My pistol is on you in this side pocket. If you move, I'll shoot through the cloth." "That's a cowboy trick; you must have traveled in the Far West," said M. Paul lightly. "Stand over there!" came the order. "Face against the wall! Hands high! Now keep still!" Coquenil did as he was bidden.
You find it in Arizona; and in the navies of all the northern countries. It added to his cowboy look. I knew nothing about Stires remember that on Naapu we never asked a man questions about himself but I liked him. He sat about on heaps of indescribable junk things that go into the bowels of ships and talked freely.
The race was for half a mile and back, around the curve of a hillside. Off they went amid the wildest war-whoops and cowboy yells I ever heard. The Indians had the advantage, since they burdened their mounts with neither saddle nor bridle. Stretched flat along the pony's back, the rider guided him by knee pressure and spurred him to victory by whistling shrilly in a turned back ear.
With an effort she succeeded in reining in her own animal, and while she sat in the saddle, trembling and anxious, there came another flash of lightning and she saw the rider's face. The rider was a cowboy. She had distinctly seen the leathern chaps on his legs; the broad hat, the scarf at his throat. Doubt and fear assailed her.
In a less frequented corner of the little park, back of the courthouse, she saw Patches. The cowboy, who had changed from his ranch costume to a less picturesque business garb, was seated alone on one of the benches that are placed along the walks, reading a letter. With his attention fixed upon the letter, he did not notice Kitty as she approached.
Fadeaway noticed that Corliss was unarmed, and he twisted the circumstance to suit a false interpretation of the fact. "Playin' safe!" he sneered. Corliss flushed and the veins swelled on his neck, but he kept silent. He looked the cowboy in the eye and was met by a gaze as steady as his own; an aggressive and insolent gaze that had for its backing sheer physical courage and nothing more.
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