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Updated: June 7, 2025
That could come later when they had put many miles between them and Arixico. They led their horses out of the stable and swung to the saddles not a minute too soon. A man came running toward them. "Hold on," he called. "Just a moment. I'm the sheriff. They say a man has been killed." The fugitives put spurs to their broncos. The animals jumped to a canter. Over his shoulder Steve looked back.
About noon that day two sad boys rode into the Bar O Ranch, leading three tired-looking broncos, who had been put through some severe paces since early morning. One of the boys and all the horses were hungry, but the other boy had little desire for food. Whitey had been up against some rough adventures in the West.
On all sides were rustle, energy, and optimism, signs of the new West in the making. Up the street a team of half-broken broncos came on the gallop, weaving among the traffic with a certainty that showed a skilled pair of hands at the reins. From the buckboard stepped lightly a straight-backed, well-muscled young fellow.
Throwin' a thousand-pound longhorn with a six hundred-pound cayouse is tellin' on all involved an' a gent who's pitchin' his rope industrious will wear down five broncos by sundown. "It's a sharp winter an' cattle dies that fast they simply defies the best efforts of ravens an' coyotes to get away with the supply. It's been blowin' a blizzard of snow for weeks.
Shrimplin's that ten reckless years of his life had been spent in the West, the far West, the West of cow-towns and bad men; that for this decade he had flourished on bucking broncos and in gilded bars, the admired hero of a variety of deft homicides.
"All this stock which is accustomed to a barn or a pasture will quit you," he warned. "Watch your broncos. Put them on the outward side of your camp when you bed down, and pitch your tent near the trail, then you will hear the brutes if they start back. Some men tie their stock all up; but I usually picket my saddle-horse and hobble the rest."
"Your condition reverses your decision. If I am to fight with any hope of winning, after what has transpired to-day, Mr. Colbrith will have to be eliminated." He had pulled the broncos down to a walk. There was a soft thudding of hoofs on the yielding earth of the grade behind, but neither of them heard. "You are disappointing me," she protested, and now the hesitation was all gone.
He's like a rocking-chair." "No," she refused. But she smiled, by no means ill pleased at his solicitude for her comfort. She halted the broncos, and said cordially: "Tie the saddle hawsses to the back rail, and pile in. We may as well be sociable." He hastened to accept the invitation. She moved over to the left side of the seat and relinquished the lines to him.
Tom Quentan no longer guided the plunging, reeling broncos on their swift and perilous way he had sturdily declined to "play second fiddle to a kerosene tank." Lee began to wonder if she should find the Fork much changed her mother was a bad correspondent. Her unspoken question, opportunely asked by another, was answered by Mrs. McBride. "Oh, Lord, yes!
They had had several little talks during Deborah's illness, and Roger was learning more of the man. Raised on a big cattle ranch that his father had owned in New Mexico, riding broncos on the plains had given him his abounding health of body, nerve and spirit, his steadiness and sanity in all this feverish city life. "Are you riding these days?" he inquired.
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