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Twice a week he rode over to the Lone Wolf Crossing of the Frio, and directed Tonia's slim, slightly lemon-tinted fingers among the intricacies of the slowly growing lariata. A six-strand plait is hard to learn and easy to teach. The ranger knew that he might find the Kid there at any visit.
But he was tired, and he lay there on Miss Tonia's hat and ate leaves from a mesquite branch that obligingly hung over the road. Pearson made the horse get up. The Easter hat, loosed from the saddle-thongs, lay there in its calico wrappings, a shapeless thing from its sojourn beneath the solid carcass of Road Runner.
So the Kid, by the time he was within a mile or two of Tonia's jacal, had reluctantly allowed his song to die away not because his vocal performance had become less charming to his own ears, but because his laryngeal muscles were aweary.
So the Kid, by the time he was within a mile or two of Tonia's /jacal/, had reluctantly allowed his song to die away not because his vocal performance had become less charming to his own ears, but because his laryngeal muscles were aweary.
In Tonia's presence his voice was as soft as a summer bullfrog's in his reedy nest. Now, at his gleesome yawp, rabbits, a mile away, ducked their ears, and sensitive plants closed their fearful fronds. "Moved your lambing camp pretty far from the ranch, haven't you, neighbor?" asked Pearson, as Road Runner fell in at the sorrel's side. "Twenty-eight miles," said Burrows, looking a little grim.
Maybe they'll get that trestle mended yet in time for Easter." "I must be riding, too, Miss Tonia," announced Burrows, looking at his watch. "I declare, it's nearly five o'clock! I must be out at my lambing camp in time to help pen those crazy ewes." Tonia's suitors seemed to have been smitten with a need for haste.
A gun- scabbard will make that sound when one grasps the handle of a six- shooter suddenly. But the sound was not repeated; and Tonia's fingers needed close attention. And then, in the shadow of death, they began to talk of their love; and in the still July afternoon every word they uttered reached the ears of the Kid. "Remember, then," said Tonia, "you must not come again until I send for you.
If there's hats at Lone Elm, one of 'em shall set on Miss Tonia's brow to-morrow, and you won't be at the crowning. I ain't bragging, Burr, but that sorrel of yours is weak in the fore-legs." "My horse against yours," offered Burrows, "that Miss Tonia wears the hat I take her to Cactus to-morrow." "I'll take you up," shouted Pearson. "But oh, it's just like horse-stealing for me!
A gun-scabbard will make that sound when one grasps the handle of a six-shooter suddenly. But the sound was not repeated; and Tonia's fingers needed close attention. And then, in the shadow of death, they began to talk of their love; and in the still July afternoon every word they uttered reached the ears of the Kid. "Remember, then," said Tonia, "you must not come again until I send for you.
Pearson's deep brown face and sunburned light hair gave him the appearance of a schoolboy seized by one of youth's profound and insolvable melancholies. Tonia's plight grieved him through and through. Thompson Burrows was the more skilled and pliable. He hailed from somewhere in the East originally; and he wore neckties and shoes, and was made dumb by woman's presence.
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