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After every party announces what his brand an' y'ear mark will be, all' the same is put down in the book, a old longhorn named Maverick addresses the meetin', an' puts it up if so be thar's no objection, now they all has brands but him, he'll let his cattle lope without markin', an' every gent'll savey said Maverick's cattle because they won't have no brand.
He had small, shifty eyes, an attractive smile, a manner of assurance bordering on insolence. He dropped into a chair at Susan's table with a, "You don't mind having a drink on me." As Susan had no money to spare, she acquiesced. She said to the bartender, "I want to get a room here a plain room. How much?" "Maybe this gent'll help you out," said the bartender with a grin and a wink.
The owners, whose cattle is all mixed up on the ranges, calls a meetin' to decide on brands, so each gent'll know his own when he crosses up with it, an' won't get to burnin' powder with his neighbors over a steer which breeds an' fosters doubts.
"That's nonsense, Jane. It stands to reason as somebody had it as hadn't ought to have had it. But I'm glad as anything as how that poor reverend gent'll come off; I am. They tells me it's weeks sometimes before a bit of butcher's meat finds its way into his house."
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