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Updated: June 2, 2025
The eyes were just a trifle too small, a trifle too close together. Yet on the whole he was a handsome fellow, as he pushed back his hat and wiped his forehead dry with a gay silk handkerchief. Sinclair noted, furthermore, that the other had a proper cowpuncher's pride in his dress. His bench-made boots molded his long and slender feet to a nicety and fitted like gloves around the high instep.
They stood still, making no move to follow. Bud reined Smoky around so that he faced them, reached laboriously into that mysterious pocket of a cowpuncher's trousers which is always held closed by the belt of his chaps, and which invariably holds in its depths the things he wants in a hurry.
On the table lay the dusty, pinched-in hat, through the disreputable crown of which Farrar had lately seen a lock of his brindle hair rising like an aigrette. "Glad to have you join us. We need riders like you. Say, it was worth five dollars to me to see the way you laid out Harrison." The cowpuncher's boyish face clouded. "I'm right sorry about that. It ce'tainly was a fool play.
Now the rest of the men crowded round. And Tresler heard the rancher's voice calling from the verandah to inquire into the meaning of the shots. However, heedless of the others, he replied to the cowpuncher's question. "Yes," he said. "Shake. S'long." The two men gripped and Arizona faded away in the uncertain light, in the direction of the barn.
The cowpuncher's rope whined through the air and settled down upon the shoulders of the animal. The gelding went sun-fishing as a formal protest against the lariat, then surrendered tamely. Dave patted it gently, stroked the neck, and spoke softly reassuring words. He picked up one of the front feet and examined the shoe. This was badly worn, and on the left side part of it had broken off.
He fired again and again, and gave the range-old cattle-yell; the yell which had sent many a tired herd over many a weary mile; the yell before which had fled fat steers into the stockyards at shipping time, and up the chutes into the cars; the yell that had hoarsened many a cowpuncher's voice and left him with a mere croak to curse his fate with; a yell to bring results but it did not start those sheep.
For an instant, the girl hesitated as her eyes swept from the cowpuncher's face to the brilliant scarf loosely knotted about his throat, the blue flannel shirt, the bright yellow angora chaps against which the ivory butt of a revolver showed a splotch of white, and the boots jammed into the broad wooden stirrups, to their high heels from which protruded a pair of enormously rowelled spurs inlaid with silver.
The conductor had a reputation as a bully. He had intended to override this young fellow by weight of age, authority, and personality. That he had failed filled him with rage. "Say, for half a cent I'd kick you into the middle of next week," he said, between clamped teeth. The cowpuncher's steel-blue eyes met his steadily. "Do you reckon that would be quite safe?" he asked mildly.
Lennox met Steve one day as the latter was returning from the property room with a saddle Threewit had asked him to adjust. The star stopped him good-naturedly. "Care to put the gloves on with me some time, Yeager?" The cowpuncher's face brightened. "I sure would. The boys say you're the best ever with the mitts." "I'm a pretty good boxer, but I don't trail in your class as a fighter.
The cave man's desire to beat down his enemy with his naked hands smouldered fiercely in the cowpuncher's heart. "Step out in front of me and saddle those horses," he ordered. Harrison looked at him murderously. His mouth was an ugly, crooked gash. Boiling with rage, he saddled, cinched, and watered the horses. Ruth had returned with Steve's pony. Her heart beat fast with excitement.
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