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Updated: June 3, 2025
Some one at the table accused Redfield of being more of a town-site boomer than a cattle-man. He was quite unmoved by this charge. "The town-site boomer at least believes in progress. He does not go so far as to shut out settlement.
That kid could ride anythin' from a he-goat to a rampagin', highpottopotamus. Why, look here!" Ike waged enthusiastic. "He's been two years in this country, and he's got us all licked good and quiet. Why, he could give points to any cattle-man in Alberta." "Well, what's the matter with him?" "Money!" said Ike wrathfully.
The hard-working carter or cattle-man, according to the union theory, is to lose his pay, his cottage, his garden, and get into bad odour with his employer, who previously trusted him, and was willing to give him assistance, in order that the day labourer who has no responsibilities either of his own or his master's, and who has already the best end of the stick, should enjoy still further opportunities for idleness.
"There," he said, "look at that. We'll just pick out the best things from the lot, and I'll donate them all." "No, you don't," said the cow-boy. "My ante's in on this game, an' I'm goin' to buy what chips I want, an' pay fer 'em too, else there ain't going to be no Christmas around here." "That's my judgment, too," said the cattle-man.
Dunn, not in the sense you mean, but I will respect your wishes." "I know that you are not an officer of the county law, but you're not a cattle-man. It is your business to keep the peace in the wild country, and you do it, everybody knows that; but I can't trust the officers of this country, they're all afraid of the cowboys.
What were they fighting about?" "In a sense, it was all very simple. You see, Uncle Sam, in his careless, do-nothing way, has always left his range to whomever got there first, and that was the cattle-man. At first there was grass enough for us all, but as we built sheds and corrals about watering-places we came to claim rights on the range.
Like a wild forest thing, at the first warning sound, she considered: Was it time for flight?—or was the warning but the crackling of a twig? Major Atkins was a cattle-man: her brother hated all cattle-men. How disinterested had been the major’s warning! He had always been her friend. Mrs. Atkins had been one of the ladies at the post who had helped to send her to school to the nuns at Santa Fé.
"I've got two new pair of woollen socks," said the cattle-man eagerly, "which I ain't never wore, and you are welcome to 'em." There was a clapping of little hands in childish glee, and then the two faces fell as the elder remarked. "But Santa Claus will know they are not our stockings and he will fill them with things for you instead."
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