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Updated: May 8, 2025
The Kid was safe, and he was well, and he had not suffered from the experience; on the contrary he spent most of his waking hours in recounting his adventures to an admiring audience. He was a real old cowpuncher. He had gone into the wilderness and he had proven the stuff that was in him. He had made "dry-camp" just exactly as well as any of the Happy Family could have done.
I'm a rell ole cowpuncher. I can slap a saddle on my string and ride like a son-a-gun. And I can put the bridle on him my own self and everything. I I was lookin' for the bunch. I had to make a dry-camp and my doughnuts is smashed up and the jelly glass broke but I never cried when a skink came. I shooed him away and I never cried once. I'm a rell ole cowpuncher, ain't I? I ain't afraid of skinks.
He tugged at the bag and made believe to Silver that his sole trouble was with his pillow. "By cripes, that damn' jelly glass digs right into my ear," he complained aloud, to help along the deception. "You go back, old-timer I'm all right. I'm a rell ole cowpuncher; ain't I, old-timer? We're makin' a dry-camp, just like Happy Jack.
Daddy Chip takes care of Doctor Dell I guess she'd cry if she couldn't find the bunch and had to make dry-camp and skinks come around but I never." "Of course you never!" Miss Allen agreed emphatically, trying not to look conscious of any tear-marks on the Kid's sunburned cheeks. "Women are regular cry babies, aren't they?
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