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A queer job for an old cow-punch, for a fact. To guard an old carpet that didn't have "welcome" on it anywhere he couldn't get that, none whatever. But there was a hundred a week, the best grub pile in the world, and the old man's Havanas as often as he pleased. Pretty soft! And he had learned a new trick shooting target in a rolling sea.
"Did it tell how a freckled cow-punch rode a fat tinhorn on his spurs?" asked Hart. "Bet he wears stovepipes on his laigs next time he mixes it with Dave," suggested one coffee-brown youth. "Well, looks like the show's over for to-night. I'm gonna roll in." Motion carried unanimously. Wakened by the gong, Dave lay luxuriously in the warmth of his blankets.
They won't have a dam' thing horse feed, grub, tobacco, matches, nothin'! Never do have anythin'. I'd rather have a bunch of Apaches camped next to me but if you want to be good to 'em there's your chanst. Meanwhile, I'm only a cow-punch pullin' off a round-up, and your name is Mr. you're the superintendent of the Dos S. Your job is to protect the upper range, and I begin to think you can do it."
Louie and brought her out here to slave around cookin' for rodér hands, and she wanted her daughters to live different. Nope, she didn't want no bow-legged cow-punch for a son-in-law, and I don't blame her none, because this ain't no place for a woman; but Sal was a mighty fine girl, all the same."
"He's shore a cow-punch dude my, but he's some sumptious an' highfalutin'. An' bad? Why, he reckons th' Lord never brewed a more high-toned brand of cussedness than his'n. He shore reckons he's the baddest man that ever simmered." "How'd he look as th' leadin' man in a necktie festival?" Blazed Johnny from across the room, feeling called upon to help the conversation.
Each time we succeeded only in developing new symptoms. At a point about fifty miles from the "town" so deeply longed for, a lone cow-punch appeared on the bank. "How far to Rocky Point?" I cried. "Oh, something less than two hundred miles!" drawled the horseman. "It's just a little place, isn't it?" I continued. "Little place!" answered the cow-puncher; "hell, no!" "What!"
"What trick's he played?" Matthews evaded the question. "I seen one of the Clark outfit," he continued, "and tried t' git him t' bother old limpy. Says I, 'They's stealin' your slow-elk down there. Wasn't any use. 'Thunderation! says the cow-punch. 'You mean that bull? He was a yearlin' when he come to 'em. That's maverick age." Braden sneered. "Such a kid!" he murmured.
"The Hundred" were not advertising the names of their supporters for future use by the I.W.W. Bud's name and address were entered in a notebook. He waddled back to his seat. "Cow-punch," said someone behind him. Bud turned and grinned. "You seen my laigs," he retorted. "Number thirty-eight." Lorry came forward and received his check. "You're pretty young," said the man at the desk.
"No, no, dad," she cautioned in a low voice; "no, no." Lancaster's breast heaved. He swallowed with an effort, and scowled from one to another of the four. David Bond came forward, addressing Lounsbury. "Will you tell me your name?" he asked. "I want to remember you. You are not a soldier. Do you belong at Clark's " "Did y' size him up fer a cow-punch?" broke in Lancaster. "Huh!
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