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Updated: June 6, 2025
"Wal, wal, I reckon that answers that," he said, holding her close. "Moore, she's yours, with my blessin' an' all I have.... An' you must understand I'm glad things have worked out to your good an' to Collie's happiness.... Life's not over fer me yet. But I reckon the storms are past, thank God!... We learn as we live. I'd hold it onworthy not to look forward an' to hope.
Lacking his invariable patience, his consistent magnetism, they finally resumed their old methods, and earned dominance by sheer strength of arm "main strength and awkwardness," as Williams put it. "It's easy for him," commented Brand Williams, discussing Collie's almost uncanny quelling of a vicious, unbitted mustang. "It's easy.
I found the little circles an' the crooked horse tracks made to trap Wils Moore.... A damned cunnin' trick!... Burley suspects a nigger in the wood-pile. Wils Moore knows the truth. He lied for Collie's sake an' yours.
Unwillingly and with wistful backward looks, Lad followed the Mistress and the Master to the house and into the dining room and to his wonted place on the floor at the Master's left side. But, more than once during the meal, the man caught the collie's eyes fixed on him in worried supplication; and was hard put to it not to grant the plea which fairly clamored in his chum's mute gaze.
After Whopper had made his cast Wags, who had been sitting on a rock watching proceedings with interest, gave a bark and caught the end of the line in his teeth. "There's an idea!" cried Snap. "Let the dog carry the line." "Will he do it?" questioned Whopper. "We can try him and see." The end of the line was made fast to the collie's collar, and Giant was told to call him. "Come, Wags!
"Water!" she cried, wiping his face with her handkerchief. Boot-heels gritted on the parched earth and spurs jingled as the men came running. The pony, with hackamore dangling, raced across the plain toward the hills. "This'll do jest as well," said Williams, pouring a mouthful of whiskey between Collie's lips. Then the taciturn foreman lifted the youth to his feet.
Remembering at last the collie's presence in that mass of darkness, Gavin shouted: "Bobby! Bobby Burns! Take him!" From somewhere in the gloom, there was a beast-snarl and a scurry of clawed feet on the polished floor. At the same time the front door flew wide.
"It's one of my boys," he said. And he noticed that a little stream of red was trickling from Collie's mouth and nostrils. His head was snapped back and then forward at every plunge. Still he gripped the saddle with rigid knees. The outlaw bucked again, and flung herself viciously sideways, turning completely round. Collie pitched drunkenly as the horse came down again and again.
And following his recollection of the old man's methods, Link himself had later set the broken leg of one of his lambs. The operation had been a success. He resolved now to duplicate it. Slowly and somewhat clumsily he went to work at the injured dog. The collie's brave patience nerved him to greater tenderness and care.
That would be at least an outlet for the impotent wrath which Ferris sought to wreak on someone or something. "Go get 'em then, if you're so set on it!" he howled at the collie, waving a windmill arm at the fugitives. "Only I'll whale your measly head off if you do!" The invitation and the gesture that went with it seemed to rouse some long-dormant memory in the collie's soul.
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