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Updated: May 4, 2025
The third morning of work on the boat Bostil met Joel down there. Joel seemed eager to speak to Bostil. He certainly was a wild-looking youth. "Bostil, my ole man is losin' sleep waitin' to git the hosses over," he said, frankly. "Feed's almost gone." "That'll be all right, Joel," replied Bostil. "You see, the river ain't begun to raise yet.... How're the hosses comin' on?"
Summer feed's all we got to fat 'em on. Winter feed's no good. You know that. We ain't going to crowd our range. You make me tired!" "What's the trouble then?" "Outsiders," snapped Pollock. "Folks that live on the plains and just push in to summer their cattle anyhow, and then fat 'em for the market on alfalfa hay. This ain't their country. Why don't they stick to their own?"
'My word! your horse's been where the feed's good. We're goin' a good way to-day. I wonder if they'll be as flash as they are now. 'They'll carry us wherever that three-cornered mule of yours will shuffle to to-night, said Jim. 'Never you mind about them. You ride straight, and don't get up to any monkey tricks, or, by George, I'll straighten you, so as you'll know better next time.
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