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"He's laughing at you," said Sargent. "He only wanted to try you out. Just wanted to show you that no red-headed boy and flea-bit horse could turn him. And he showed you." "This beats roping," admitted Dell, as the two returned to the herd, quite willing to change the subject. "Actually when a beef reaches the edge of the herd, this horse swells up and his eyes pop out like door-knobs.
"That flea-bit mare!" charged One-Eye, dropping Johnnie's breakfast and picking up the boy. "Pore kid! . . . . And he was workin'! . . . . Is he hurt bad? . . . . That ongrateful bronc'! . . . . Totin' the blamed thing water, too!" thus they sympathized with him as he swayed against One-Eye, who was steadying him on his feet. Breath and tears came at the same moment the latter in spite of him.
The incipient rebellion had been ended by a glance. "Durn ye, Jed Bungay, why, thet's more money thin ye've aimed in six months, an' ye've got more measly, flea-bit dorgs 'round yere now then ye kin ever feed. Give me ther four bits, mister, an' I reckon as how it'll be all right." The little man balanced himself on one foot, and cocked up his eye in an abortive attempt to wink.
"Hello, there's Jim Sanders on his roan," says one, or "Here comes Kit Jenkins with her flea-bit gray. I wonder who's on the bay alongside of her," remarks another, and each of these observations is taken quite as a matter of course. With a wide and empty field of vision, and with trained, unspoiled optic nerves, the plainsman is marvelously penetrating of glance. Hence, Mrs.
"Forward march!" shouted father and led the way with the big bob-sled, followed by cousin Jim and our little herd of kine, while mother and the children brought up the rear in a "pung" drawn by old Josh, a flea-bit gray. It is probable that at the moment the master himself was slightly regretful.
"But there's a dozen localities like this, a dozen little civil wars going on right now where the inhabitants are so mulish that they lay their ears and fight their own interests by upholding a flea-bit prejudice that was good for twenty years ago but is a dead issue to-day." "And why is it dead to-day?" Morrow demanded. "And not as good as it always was?"
I was lonesome once. I don't mean simply willin' to sit in a game, or to join a friendly little booze competition, or feelin' a sort of inward desire to mingle about with some o' the old boys an' see who could remember the biggest tales I mean LONESOME, the real rib-strainin' article when a man sits in a limpy little heap with his tongue hangin' out, a-wishin' that a flea-bit coyote would saunter along, slap him on the back, an' call him friens.
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