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Yeoo-oo-oo Buff. Bang. As it is difficult to make a noise in print, it might be well to explain that, of the above words, the last is supposed to sound like a revolver-shot. It is as near as we can come to the disturbance made by a Texas "prairie buster" as he came down Claxton road. Ahead of him were ten oxen five yoke. His far-reaching bull-whip exploded just beside Rip's left ear.
"That's just what I was beginning to think," he replied. "How many lambs might there be in the next day or two, if they really started coming?" "Maybe two or three hundred." "Two or !" The words died out as Janet looked down in her lap and considered the one. He was resting comfortably. "Two or three hundred," she repeated vacantly. G'lang there, yeoo-oo-oo, Rip. Yeoo-oo-oo, Squat.
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