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Jest give me room and see me split the air! You want to climb the fence when I 'm a-comin'!" "Where did you git that little song?" queried Annersley. "Why why, that's how the fellas shoot her over to the round-up at Magdalena and Flag. Reckon I been there!" "Well, don't you bust ole Apache too hard, son. He's a mighty forgivin' hoss but he's got feelin's." "Huh! You're a-joshin' me agin.
Says he'll starve first. Says Nels hed the gang over to big bunk an' feasted them on bread you taught him how to make in some new-fangled bucket-machine with a crank. Jim says thet bread beat any cake he ever eat, an' he wants you to show him how to make some. Now, Miss Majesty, as superintendent of this ranch I ought to know what's goin' on. Mebbe Jim is jest a-joshin' me.
"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!
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