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In our bunk-house three of the boys were about to turn into bed. They had worked hard all day, driving cattle into the home-pasture for the spring rodeo, and on the morrow they would have to work harder still, cutting out the steers and branding the calves. "Who is this Perfessor?" asked Dan. Jimmie, who was rubbing tallow on to his lariat, answered "There's a piece about him in the Tribune."
His mind, ever active, was wandering through the home-pasture seeking the fatal spring. He was trying to estimate the effect of silicious matter upon the mucous membrane of a cow, when he saw Dan, sombrero in hand, bowing low before him. "Hello!" said the Professor, his eye resting professionally upon Dan's splendid proportions. What a "subject" to cut up! What a skeleton to articulate!
We spent a few days in San Francisco; and then we returned to the ranch to give a luncheon in the bride's honour. The table was set under some splendid live-oaks in the home-pasture, which, in May, presents the appearance of a fine English park. A creek tinkled at our feet, and beyond, out of the soft, lavender-coloured haze, rose the blue peaks of the Santa Lucia mountains.
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