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Updated: May 2, 2025
The sensitive spirit of Chapuli responded like a twin being to the sudden madness of his master, and the lagging rodéo hands were galvanized into action by his impetuous ardor. And at the end, when the roping and branding were over, Hardy rode down to the pasture for a fresh mount, his eyes still burning with a feverish light and his lips close-drawn and silent.
Then of his own accord Chapuli stepped from the trail and began to pick his way soberly up the hill.
And early in the morning, true to his word, he saddled up Chapuli and struck out down the river. From the doorway Creede watched him curiously, his lips parted in a dubious smile. "There's something funny goin' on here, ladies," he observed sagely, "something funny and I'm dogged if I savvy what it is." He stooped and scooped up Tommy in one giant paw.
Instantly his yell was answered by a chorus, and as Chapuli swerved from the rush of the pack the door was thrown open and the tall, gaunt form of Bill Johnson stood outlined against the light. "Yea, Ribs; hey, Rock; down, Ring!" he hollered. "Hey, boys; hey, Suke!"
And as he looked upon it his melancholy gaze changed to a staring, hawk-like intentness; he leaned forward in the saddle and Chapuli stepped eagerly down the slope, head up, as if he sniffed the battle.
"He has gone down to the river," she said patiently. "Would you like to see him?" "Yes," he replied, still impersonally; and with his head down, he walked out to where Chapuli was standing. Then, as if some memory of her voice had come to him, he dropped the bridle lash and stepped back quickly into the house. "You mustn't notice my rudeness, Miss Lucy," he began abjectly.
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