Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 12, 2025
"You quit joshin' your dad," said Cheyenne. "I ain't joshin' nobody. Ole 'Clubfoot' Sneed, over by the re'savation's got Josh and Filaree. I seen 'em in his corral, yesterday. I was up there, huntin'." "Did you talk to him?" queried Cheyenne. "Nope. He just come out of his cabin an' told me to fan it. I wasn't doin' nothin'. He said it was against the law to be huntin' up there.
When Peter came upon the scene he found Linda, flushed and brilliant eyed, holding before him a big bouquet of alder bloom, the last of the lilacs she had found in a cool, shaded place, pink filaree, blue lupin, and white mahogany panicles. "Peter," she cried. "you can't guess what I have been doing!" Peter glanced at the flowers. "Isn't it obvious?" he inquired.
"Now I reckon we better hold 'em in a little," said Cheyenne after they had gone, perhaps, a half-mile. "We got a good start." They slowed the horses to a trot. Filaree kept close to Joshua's flank. A gust of warm air struck their faces. "Ain't got time to shake hands, pardner," said Cheyenne. "Know where you're goin'?" "South," said Bartley. "Correc'. And I don't hear no hosses behind us."
He seemed to ignore the fact that he was afoot, in country where there was little prospect of getting a lift from a passing rancher or freighter. And he said nothing about his horses, Filaree and Joshua, although Bartley knew that their loss must have hit him hard.
Meanwhile, the sun was shining, the road wound among the ragged hills, and Filaree and Joshua stepped along briskly, their hoof-beats suggesting the rhythm of a song. That night they camped in the hill country not far from a crossroads store. In the morning they bought a few provisions and an extra canteen.
But the mountain man merely gestured again and followed Cheyenne through a patch of timber, and across another meadow and Cheyenne caught a glimpse of the ridge of a cabin roof, and smoke above it. Close to the cabin was a large pole corral. Cheyenne saw the backs of Filaree and Joshua, among the other horses, long before he came to the corral.
But I aim to catch up and mebby get ahead a couple of eats, some day. But the hosses get theirs, regular. Come on, Filaree, we'll go prospect the sleepin'-quarters." Bartley sat back and smiled to himself as Cheyenne departed for the corral. This wayfarer, breezing in from the spaces, suggested possibilities as a character for a story No doubt the song was more or less autobiographical.
Here was the real hobo, the irrepressible absolute. Cheyenne stepped up and swung to the saddle with the effortless ease of the old hand. Bartley noticed that the pack-horse had no lead-rope, nor had he been tied. Bartley did not know that Filaree, the pack-horse, would never let Joshua, the saddle-horse, out of his sight. They had traveled the Arizona trails together for years.
Bartley raced up, bracing himself as the big cow-horse set up in two jumps. "I thought you was abidin' in San Andreas," said Cheyenne. "There's some one coming!" warned Bartley, breathing heavily. "And his name is Filaree," declared Cheyenne. "You sure done a good job. Let's keep movin'." And Cheyenne let Joshua out as Filaree drew alongside and nickered shrilly.
About four that afternoon the horses pricked their ears and quickened their pace. Filaree and Joshua especially seemed interested in getting along the silent trail; and presently the trail merged with another trail, more defined. A few hundred yards down this trail, and Bartley saw a big log cabin; to the left and beyond it a corral, empty, and with the bars down.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking