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Billie delivered the orders of the drover to the foreman as they passed on their way to the remuda. Joe gave a snort of derision, but let it go at that. When Homer Webb was with one of his trail outfits he was always its boss. While Thursday watched him, Prince roped out a cinnamon horse from the remuda. The cowpuncher was a long-bodied man, smooth-muscled and lithe.
Now, the whole thing was more upset than ever, for Moran and Rexhill could hardly be blamed if they backed up their own men, especially if the herders had been blameless, as was probably the case. Yet if the Senator did this, Wade knew that a bloody little war would be the outcome. "Where's Trowbridge, Barker?" he asked of the cowpuncher, whom he found waiting at the stable.
A person would think nobody lived on Dead Cow but outlaws and such, to hear some of you valley people tell it." "There's nothing mysterious about me and my questions. I'm just a lunkheaded cowpuncher out of a job. What did you think I was?" "What do you want with Sam Cullison? Are you friendly to him? Or aren't you?" "Ladies first. Are you friendly to him? Or aren't you?"
"'Bout the leddy?" inquired the cowpuncher. "You've struck it." "Wal, git right along. I'd sooner it wus you than me, I guess. Howsum, I'll set right hyar. Mebbe I'll be handy ef you're wantin' me." Tresler laughed. "Oh, it's all right," he said. "I'm not dealing with Jake." "Nope," replied the other, settling himself on a saddle-tree. Then, after a thoughtful pause, "which is regret'ble."
The Mayor grinned; "Tex Benton, hain't you had no bringin' up whatever? That was a pretty throw but it's onrespectable, no mor'n what it's respectable to call the Mayor of a place by his first name to a public meetin'." "I plumb ferget myself, your Honour," laughed the cowpuncher as he coiled his rope. "Fact is, I learnt to rope mares back in Texas, an' I ain't " "Yip-e-i-e!" "Ropin' mares!"
"How many ladies has he got on the string, do you reckon?" The fair-haired cowpuncher grinned. "You meander round to the back of the hotel an' I expect you'll meet up with the lady. Mollie Larson she " "Oh, Mrs. Larson." For a moment a wild hope had flamed in Bob's heart. His thoughts had flashed to another woman in the hotel. "Why, yes. Mollie runs the hotel, don't she?
"I do," was the surly rejoinder. "Got any kick comin'?" "Nary kick." The cowpuncher tossed his dollar onto the bar. "Give me a little red licker," he ordered, and grinned at the sullen proprietor as he filled his glass to the brim. "An outfit," he confided, with slow insolence, "that'll run an eagle-bird wheel ain't got no more conscience than a hombre's got brains that'll buck one.
Your old dad will sure be glad to see you bust the round-up to-day and I reckon the outfit to-morrow." "You insolent cowpuncher!" shouted Belllounds, growing beside himself with rage. "If you don't shut up I'll bust your face." "Shut up!... Me? Nope. It can't be did. This is a free country, Buster Jack."
Lite Avery, who had gone prowling down the draw by himself, came back to camp, tilting stiff-leggedly along in his high-heeled boots and betraying, in every step he took, just how handicapped a cowpuncher is when set afoot upon the range and forced to walk where he has always been accustomed to ride.
From his pocket the range-rider took a bunch of skeleton keys. It was no trouble to find one that would unlock the door, but in addition to this fastening there was a padlock. With a hatchet which he had brought Yeager pried the staple out. In another moment the door was open. "Help me drag these fellows inside," ordered the cowpuncher, taking command promptly.
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