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"He's got a wall eye," said McKinney, "and I never seen a wall eye in a man, woman, or mustang, that it didn't mean bad. This here bird ain't no Hereford, nor yet a short-horn. He's a dogy that ain't bred right, and he ain't due to act right." All Curly could do was to shake his head, unpersuaded. Meantime, there went on in the little cabin across the arroyo, a reproduction of an old, old drama.
I had to keep my hand on his arm all the afternoon." "The poor old dogy!" Doug shook his head. "We'll keep the guns away from him, and then he won't get into trouble. I'm more bothered about you and Scott than I am about me and Johnny, though!" "Scott means mischief," said the preacher. Douglas nodded. "I don't want you to go anywhere without me.
Already they planned a garden, and in the evenings were as likely to talk of turnips, beets, peas, beans, and potatoes as of the new Hereford bulls Larson and Harshaw were importing from Denver. For the handwriting was on the wall. Cattlemen must breed up or go out of business. The old dogy would not do any longer. Already Utah stock was displacing the poor southern longhorns.
"What are you talking about?" "I know you, you dogy rider, you! I told you that wild horse of yours would gum the game. There ain't a steer left! What do you mean by riding him into the corral?" "You're drunk!" retorted Douglas. "You'd better ride after that bull or Charleton will pull a gun on you." "Ride after nothing! Chase him yourself!" "On second thoughts, I think I will.
Judith wore but one spur and this had a broken rowell, but she kicked Swift with it and Swift whirled against the nervous Buster and bit him on the cheek. Buster reared. "Take that back, you dogy cowboy you!" shrieked Judith. Douglas brought Buster round and raised his hand to strike the girl. She eyed him fearlessly.
He decided that the dignified thing to do was to fail to recognize the man. Blister leaned toward the Governor and whispered confidentially. "Say, Gov, take my tip an' try one o' these here steaks. They ain't from dogy stock." The Governor had been a cattleman himself. The free-and-easy ways of the West did not disturb him. "Go you once, Blister," he assented.
As I was saying, I wandered around like a dogy when it's first turned loose on the range and is trying to find the old, familiar barn-yard and the skim-milk bucket. And like the dogy, I didn't run across anything that looked natural or inviting. All that day I perambulated over them hills, and I will say I wasn't enjoying the stroll none. You're right when you say things can happen, out here.
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