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She had no intention of risking the descent; she merely wanted to view the place from afar, and she judged that from the edge of a plateau, which the puncher had described to her, she would be able to see very well.
They turned over the King of Gee-Whiz gently, that he might rest more easily, where he lay. His coat and waistcoat fell open. Underneath them, upon the left side of his chest, appeared a small, dull-colored cross of metal. "For Valor"; Curly read the inscription with difficulty. "I knowed it; I knowed he'd been a cow puncher sometime, and just went wrong."
There is nothing so soundless as night on the plains unless there be beasts near, either tamed or wild. No coyote slunk about the ranch-house. The horses were still in the corrals. The cattle were all too far distant to be heard. Not even the song of a sleepy puncher, as he wheeled around the herd, drifted to the barred window of Frances' room.
"Course, they make a right good audience, when you're singin'. They do all the listenin'," said another puncher. "Huh! They ain't one of you got a hoss that can listen to you, without blushin'. You fellas think you're a hard-ridin' " "Ridin' beats walkin'," suggested Long Lon. "Keep a-joshin'. I like it. Shows how much you don't know. I hello, Mr. Bartley!
For, his horse going into the air with great briskness at the impact of Racey's toe, even as the puncher had intended it should, he, Luke Tweezy, bit his tongue so hard that he wept involuntary tears of keenest anguish. "You stop that cussin'," resumed Racey, seizing the bridle short and yanking the bouncing horse to a standstill with a swerve and a jerk that almost unseated its rider.
A rope might have skeered me; but say, I don't keer that for landslips," and Nick snapped his fingers contemptuously. But Frank, who knew the sly cow puncher so well, believed that more or less of his indifference was assumed. "Well, I do!" declared Peg, with emphasis; "and if I'd only known about that sort of thing before, blessed if I'd a come.
Besides, it's my game, an' I'm goin' to play her a lone hand as far as Dale is concerned." "You goin' to round up what's left of the cattle?" asked a puncher. Sanderson answered shortly: "Not any. There wasn't enough left to make a fuss about, an' Dale can have them." The incident of Devil's Hole had changed the character of the fighting between Sanderson and Dale.
"I can fetch the rest by sundown, if I don't have to meander all over the mesa with these first packs." "Where did you leave the packhorses?" asked Blake. "Up along the cañon where Ashton shot his yearling deer," answered the puncher. "It's about half way between that gulch where you say you're going down and the bend across from the head of Dry Fork Gulch." "We'll camp there," decided Blake.
But then, again what good would it do to punch his head? Punching his head wouldn't get me money and if I was to try it, on finding that the licks didn't bring out the cash, I might be tempted to help myself to the cash, and that would be highway robbery; and when the punchee ventured to suggest that, the puncher might be tempted to silence him.
No, no don't do it, Aunt Fanny! Tell him I'll go to bed when I'm sure he is quite comfortable, not before." "But he's jes' a goat puncheh er a " "He's a man, if there ever was one. Don't let me hear you call him a goat puncher again. How are his legs?" Aunt Fanny was almost stunned by this amazing question from her ever-decorous mistress. "Why don't you answer? Will they have to be cut off?
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