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Updated: June 16, 2025
A rumble, half cursing and half an inarticulate snarl of brute rage, rose from the cowpunchers. "Bart," called Dan again, and leaped back from the door, raced out to Satan, and drove into the night at a dead gallop. Half the posse rushed after him. A dozen shots were pumped after the disappearing shadowy figure. Two or three jumped into their saddles. The others called them back.
And of course the daughter of the Rose Ranch owner and her friends were doubly welcome to this outfit. The tent was set up for the girls; but, as before, Walter roughed it with the cowpunchers. He was enjoying every minute of his experience on the ranch, whether his timid sister did or not!
It was eight o'clock, and already beginning to be very warm. He should have started three hours earlier. Chapman ranch was only eighteen miles away, but there was a road for only three miles of the distance. He had ridden over there once with one of the Half-Moon cowpunchers, and he had the direction well-defined in his mind.
Lonny led his cohorts straight for the Capitol. With a wild yell, the gang endorsed his now evident intention of riding into it. Hooray for San Saba! Up the six broad, limestone steps clattered the broncos of the cowpunchers. Into the resounding hallway they pattered, scattering in dismay those passing on foot. Lonny, in the lead, shoved Hot Tamales direct for the great picture.
You damned hard-ridin', gun-throwin' son of mine! ... Once my heart broke because you drifted with the wild cowpunchers but now by God, I believe I'm glad." "Dad, never mind range talk. You know how cowboys brag and blow.... I'm not ashamed to face you and mother. I've come clean, Dad." "But, son, you've you've used that gun!" whispered Smith, hoarsely. "Sure I have.
It was somethin' like this: "There was a big coulee among the hills, an', one summer, when there'd been a prairie fire that wiped out a lot o' feed, a bunch o' cattle was headed into this coulee. Three cowpunchers and a cook with the chuck wagon made up the gang. But this yar cook was one o' them fellers what's not only been roped by bad luck, but hog-tied and branded good and plenty.
"Heaps of 'em do, and that's a fact," replied the other, chuckling. "I've heard some of our cowpunchers talking about it more'n a few times; and you remember how old Hank took it when we told him what we had in mind?" "They're a superstitious lot, as a whole, I take it," Bob ventured. "Now, as for me, I never could believe in ghosts and all that sort of thing.
Then they did one o' them 'Wow-wow-wow' dances round Rumpty-Tumpty, who was still smokin' like he'd set fire to the cabin." Cowpunchers are a paradox. They have the wisdom of the ages, yet they are only grown-up children. Now they filled the night with mirth. Hawks lay down on his bunk and kicked his feet into the air joyfully. Reeves fell upon Dud and beat him with profane gayety.
But for some reason the men paid little attention to him just then. One man was talking, and the rest were listening with rapt interest. They were cowpunchers, every one. Cowpunchers such as Tresler had heard of. Some were still wearing their fringed "chapps," their waists belted with gun and ammunition; some were in plain overalls and thin cotton shirts.
"I'm going to take you back to the boys that are combing these hills for you. They'll do all that's done." The prisoner's sneer went out of commission. He did not need to ask what Arizona cowpunchers would do to him under the circumstances. "I figured your size was about a twenty-two not big enough to fight it out alone with me. Once is a-plenty."
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