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"One of Buck's outfit," answered Fresno. "He is mighty slick with the runnin'-iron and brandin' other folks' calves." "We can't be too careful," warned Sage-brush. "Things is strained to the bustin'-point, and any promise of gun-play is goin' to set off a whole lot of fireworks." Show Low was on the verge of waking up.
"Doggone yore hide, you're always stickin' me somehow," stormed the cowboy. "Trouble with me is I'm so soft I'm always gettin' imposed on. I done told you I didn't like this guy a-tall. That don't make no more impression on you than a cold runnin'-iron would on a cow." "M-much obliged, Dud. I knew you'd do it." "I ain't said I'd do it." "S-some of the boys are liable to get on the prod with him.
"Thar's folks thar, takin' 'em up an' down, horns, hide, tallow, an' beef, who ain't worth heatin' a runnin'-iron to brand." "What's the trouble?" I inquired, as I organized for comfort with my back against the elm-tree which shadowed us. "No trouble at all," replied my old friend sourly, "leastwise nothin' poignant.
In two hours after this impulsive Billy prances out of the Red Light on the heels of Texas Thompson's remarks about how hostile 'Doby would be if he ever gets Marie, he's done lured her before the padre over in Chihuahua, an' the padre marries 'em as quick as you could take a runnin'-iron an' burn a brand on a calf. "'Which this is not all.
I been thinkin', Curly. It's plumb shameful for to hold the pilgrim for doin' what one of us would of had to do sooner or later. Choteau County has stood for him about as long as it could, an' a damn sight longer than it ought to. His work was gettin' so rotten it stunk, I could tell you about a sage-brush corral an' some runnin'-iron work over on the south slope "
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