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Updated: June 16, 2025
He'd turned the town over to them, a bunch of cowpunchers just up from the Nueces." The rancher started at the word, exchanging a startled, meaning look with his son. "That outfit that loaded over at Ascalon yesterday?" he inquired. "Yes; seven or eight of them stayed behind to look after the horses eight with the marshal, he's one of the outfit."
Without a break the Texan picked up the refrain, improvising words to fit the occasion: "The sheriff's name, it's old Sam Moore, He's standin' down by the jail-house door With seventeen knives an' a gatlin' gun, But you bet your boots we'll make him run Ah wi yi yippie i o-o-o-!" With whoops of approbation and a deafening chorus of yowls and catcalls, the cowpunchers crowded through the door.
That he was nearly alone in his judgment may be ascribed to the difference of tastes. And it may be stated as a curious coincidence that most of the cowpunchers were blondes. Not a word had been heard from Douglass since his departure and he had actually passed out of the mind of Mrs. Brevoort altogether.
If his words needed amplification it could be found in the wolfish malevolence of his lean face or in the tremor which shook him; the thin space of a thought divided him from action. Marianne sprang from her chair. She knew enough of Hervey to understand that he could not swallow this insult in the presence of his cowpunchers.
Already the bay was beginning to feel the run, and Marianne reluctantly drew down to the long lope which is the favorite gait of the cowpony. At this pace she rocked on over mile after mile of desert through the moonhaze, but never a token of the cowpunchers came on her. Twice she was on the verge of turning back; twice she shook her head and urged the mare on again.
Curly planted a stinging slap against Ranse's left cheek. The print of his hand stood out a dull red against the tan. Ranse smiled happily. The cowpunchers talk to this day of the battle that followed. Somewhere in his restless tour of the cities Curly had acquired the art of self-defence.
What was they runnin' away from?" "Hey!" broke in one of the cowpunchers, pointing with a dramatic fork through the window. It was a bright spot of gold that disappeared over the top of the nearest hill; then it came into view again, the whole body of a yellow-haired child, clothed in a wisp of white, and running steadily toward the north. "The kid!" gasped the foreman. "Boys, grab her.
The Mexicans looked inquiringly at Ballard but he dismissed the matter with a careless, "Oh, just some drunken bunch of cowpunchers or railroad tarriers with more ammunition than sense; that kind of thing is getting altogether too prevalent; the authorities ought to put a stop to it! Say, that's a dandy bottle of fizz, Coogan! Do you drink of the wines of Champagne much in Arneca, Señores?"
"Well, old Highball here isn't just what you might call love-inspiring, and the boys have kind o' passed him up; they have too many other good gentle horses in their strings to justify my letting them take any chances. But as to their being 'afraid' of him, why that's all bosh. Cowpunchers who are afraid of any horse don't hold their jobs long, Miss Carter."
The bearded man spoke again, but though a dozen cowpunchers were close by no one heard his voice except the man at his side. One side of his face remained perfectly immobile and his eyes stared straight before him drearily while he whispered from a corner of his mouth: "How long do you stay, Lee?" "Noon," said Lee.
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