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Updated: May 8, 2025
It ain't a square deal, but I reckon I can stand it." "I reckon you'll have to. It's neck meat or nothin'," grunted the foreman. Doble counted him out eighty dollars in cattlemen's checks and paid him two-fifty in cash.
Which was much too good not to tell Morton, so they laughed very much, and at ten o'clock were signed on for the trip and led, whooping, to the deck of the S.S. Merian. Cattle were still struggling down the chutes from the dock. The dirty decks were confusingly littered with cordage and the cattlemen's luggage.
Work there was yet to do, and plenty of it. Even if the weather came clear on the morrow as he desired, he must make every minute count, if he would take his picture to the Cattlemen's Convention. Work there was, and problems there were to be solved. But he had his big blizzard stuff, and he had his scenes of the phantom herd.
This was America; he was an American, and he didn't purpose to allow the Cattlemen's Association or any other association, gang, or individual to dictate the policy of his paper or influence his private actions. Least of all did he purpose to allow anyone to "run him out of town."
If I didn't know him like I know this here right hand, I would say he was gettin' hardenin' of the brain in his ole aige. But he's a long ways from havin' his head examined yet. "Then along comes a representative of the Cattlemen's Association and says they want me to run for State Senator. Then along comes a committee of hay-tossers from up around St.
I'll tackle him alone. Tell the neighbors to live under cover till they hear I've either got him or he's got me. In case it turns out against me, they can do whatever seems best to them." Mark Thorn had not killed anybody since shooting the man at the plow. There were five deaths to his credit on that contract, although none of the fallen was on the cattlemen's list of desirables to be removed.
Several of the cattlemen's bullets tearing through the wooden wall of the house had caught these kneeling figures, and the fire from the place, never accurate, began to weaken. Mart had another purpose in view, but of that he said nothing. Possibly he was mortified by the failure of his sheep raid.
"You can't run that on me, Dug. I'll not stand for it." "Eighty-two fifty is what you get," answered the other dogmatically. "You can take it or go to hell." He began to sort out a number of small checks with which to pay the puncher. At that time the currency of the country consisted largely of cattlemen's checks which passed from hand to hand till they were grimy with dirt.
But the tide of civilization laps forward. A cattlemen's association had been formed. Beaudry, active as an organizer, had been chosen its first president. With all his energy he had fought the rustlers. When the time came to make a stand the association nominated Beaudry for sheriff and elected him. He had prosecuted the thieves remorselessly in spite of threats and shots in the dark.
The cattlemen's stations were scattered over that profound wilderness miles and miles apart at each station half a dozen persons. There was a plenty of cattle, the black natives were always ill-nourished and hungry. The land belonged to them.
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