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Updated: June 15, 2025
"Oh, I can tell by Barb's walk she's ahead," Peggy cried as the two players, their caddies and a small gallery, appeared around the corner of the wood that screened the seventeenth green. "She was two down at the turn and Carol was playing par golf," someone volunteered. "What does down at the turn mean?" whispered Keineth.
Coming down the Turkey he met Van Horn. They had a bunch of Barb's boys with them driving in some cattle." "Whose cattle?" "Punk says when he run into 'em they was roundin' up yours." "Was Punk sober?" asked Laramie. "He sure was," replied McAlpin.
"Well," grumbled her companion, defeated at every point, "Barb's got plenty of horses." Kate did not like to hear her father called Barb, but Belle would not call him anything else. Back of the cottage, Doubleday had a small barn, where Henry an ex-cowboy looked after Doubleday's driving horses.
'They're my share of Barb's spring drop, was all he said. You know he lent Barb all his savings one year that was when he used to save money, before his wife died. He never got a red cent of it back, never even asked for it. But when he wanted money he'd drive off some of Barb's steers. Yes, Abe stole cattle, I admit; yet I don't call him a thief not today, anyway," said John, raising his glass.
"Said he was going up into the mountains but he's comin' over again before he starts. I knowed he helped you track them wire scouts over to Barb's. The blame critters tore off all the wire t'other side the creek, too. Get any track of 'em?" he asked, sympathetically alive to what had been most on Laramie's mind when he had started from home.
"But where do you sleep when it rains?" cried Keineth. "Oh, out there," laughed Peggy; "you see, the roof slants down so far that it keeps out the rain. That's your cot between Barb's and mine." Keineth caught a glimpse of a great blue stretch of water glistening in the bright sunlight a quarter of a mile away. "Oh is that the lake?" she exclaimed, eagerly.
He hadn't the first instincts of one no secrecy, no dark night stuff, no lying. He never denied a raid if he made one. And never did worse when the big cattlemen protested, than to tell them to go to hell. He had a bunch of old Barb's calves branded along with his own one year: 'Well, you're the coolest rustler in the Falling Wall, I says to him.
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