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Updated: May 10, 2025
I haven't been in your cabin." "Well, come right along over. This was Bud's camp when he was homesteadin'. Ever see a piano like that?" Bronson gazed at the carved and battered piano, stepping close to it to inspect the various brands. "It is rather amazing. I didn't know Mr. Shoop was fond of music." "Well, he can't play reg'lar. But he sure likes to try.
Not a movement of his that was not reported faithfully to Courtrey, not a coming or going that was not watched from start to finish. And the cattle king narrowed his eyes and listened to his lieutenants with growing disapproval. "Took up land, think?" he asked Wylackie Bob. "Homesteadin'?" Wylackie shook his head. "Ain't goin' accordin' to entry," he said, "no more'n th' cabin.
A thick partition of brush separated him from the unseen speaker. Pete stopped midway in his stride. "If you squat down here you can see the winder, right under this bush. The moon was shinin'. It was a plumb easy shot. And it sure stopped homesteadin' in this end of the country." Gary was speaking. Pete drew a step nearer. "You ain't sayin' who fired that shot," and Cotton laughed obsequiously.
I know a cattleman around Lost Trail." Rawhide country. Lost Trail. About them was the atmosphere of far-flung space, of solitude and peace. "I may go there myself some day," I told him. "If you do," he said soberly, "leave this doggone newspaper shebang behind. It's a pest to the country. Don't clutter up any more range with homesteadin' herds.
"Lass, I ain't likin' thet, an' I ain't likin' the way you look an' speak." "I am sorry. I can't help either." "What'd this cowboy say to you?" "We talked mostly about his injured foot." "An' what else?" went on Belllounds, his voice rising. "About what he meant to do now." "Ahuh! An' thet's homesteadin' the Sage Creek Valley?" "Yes, sir." "Did you want him to do thet?" "I! Indeed I didn't."
Tweet pursed his lips. "I hate to admit it," he said, "but I guess you're right. Still, we can expect things to be slower in winter. Then these settlers oughta help Ragtown some when spring comes along. Chances are, though, most of 'em are broke. 'Salways like that. I've been homesteadin' communities before now. No good, as a rule. "But I ain't worryin' about Ragtown. She'll perk up.
"What will become of the settlers?" asked Ida Mary. "The quicker these homesteadin' herds vacate," Lone Star answered in that slow drawl of his, "the better for everybody. The hot winds have come too early. Goin' to burn the pastures, looks like; hard to find water now for the cattle." He handed us two flasks of cold water.
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