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"That's it; let the chickens and the ranch go to thunder, as long as there's a stranger to trapse round with; go on!" Lance would have made some savage reply, but Flip interrupted.
Half an hour later the saddle boys, having finished their business, and sent the Circle ranch cowboy galloping homeward bearing the message to Mr.
I haven't any matches to make a fire, but maybe I can find some." "Will we have to stay here all night?" asked Janet anxiously. "I spect so," her brother answered. "I don't know the way back to the ranch house. We can't even find the rocks. We'll stay here all night. It isn't cold, and now we have a blanket we can wrap up in it like the cowboys do. And we've something to eat and drink."
For this was the same young man curiously pale, curiously drawn and haggard but yet the same man. Understanding, understanding everything, he nickered softly and pressed close, mindful of yet another thing something that had helped to make his life on the little ranch so pleasant and unforgettable. What he was mindful of, and what he now sought, was sugar and quartered apples.
"What's up?" he said. "This here," said Sim, "is a letter that Annie brung me out of the house where them two is living. She says she found it in there. We can't make nothing out of it. Seems like this Waldhorn here had something to say to Charlie Dorenwald. Annie says it's the same Dorenwald that was up above, at the ranch, the one Wid didn't get.
Within the following month, the Sixth U.S. Cavalry brought all of them back to Cheyenne as prisoners of war, thus saving them from extermination at the hands of the indignant rustlers, who had them hemmed in on all sides. Fred Whitney sold out his ranch, near the headwaters of Powder River, and moved eastward.
Judge Ware settled down against a convenient post and caught his breath, meanwhile regarding his companion curiously. "Yes, that's it," he said. "I wanted to talk with you about my ranch, but I swear I'll have to wait till Creede comes back, now." "Very well," answered Hardy easily; "we can talk about home, then. How is Miss Lucy succeeding with her art is she still working at the Institute?"
He meant to be up before daylight so that he could strike the ranch of the Muleshoe outfit in time for breakfast, wherefore he went to bed before the afterglow had left the mountain-tops around him. And being young and carefree and healthfully weary, he was asleep and snoring gently within five minutes of his last wriggle into his blankets.
"Have they been after you, too?" "Not yet. Dad Dale's the lad they want special. My ranch would be a good thing, but it ain't noways necessary like Dale's is to anybody startin' a big brand. Lookit the way Dale's lays right across the valley between them two ridges like a cork in a bottle.
But matters were moving too quickly now to take any chances. There was no telephone at the ranch, or he could have called up long-distance, and a telegram, to be intelligible, would have to be too explicit. He would write to Mark tomorrow, or perhaps the next day after he had seen the Express people.
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