United States or Chad ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
One day a being named Bartholomew, a sheep-man and therefore of little account from the lower Rio Grande country, rode in sight of the Nopalito ranch-house, and felt hunger assail him. Ex consuetudine he was soon seated at the mid-day dining table of that hospitable kingdom.
As a consequence, one day a sunburned, capable, silk-kerchiefed nonchalant youth, garnished with revolvers, and attended by three Mexican vaqueros, alighted at the Nopalito ranch and presented the following business-like epistle to the queen thereof: Mrs.
"You hear your boss, Bud," said Webb Yeager, with a broad grin just as he had said a year ago. And that is all, except that when old man Quinn, owner of the Rancho Seco, went out to look over the herd of Sussex cattle that he had bought from the Nopalito ranch, he asked his new manager: "What's the Nopalito ranch brand, Wilson?" "X Bar Y," said Wilson. "I thought so," said Quinn.
At eight o'clock on the following morning Bud Turner rolled from his saddle in front of the Nopalito ranch-house, and stumbled with whizzing rowels toward the gallery. Bud was in charge of the bunch of beef-cattle that was to strike the trail that morning for San Antonio. Mrs. Yeager was on the gallery watering a cluster of hyacinths growing in a red earthenware jar.
To-day, in Nopalito horse-pasture he survives, pampered, beloved, unridden, cherished record-holder of long-distance rides. The horseman stumbled into the house. Two arms fell around his neck, and someone cried out in the voice of woman and queen alike "Webb oh, Webb!" "I was a skunk," said Webb Yeager. "Hush," said Santa, "did you see it?" "I saw it," said Webb.
Webb Yeager rode to the southeast as straight as the topography of West Texas permitted. And when he reached the horizon he might have ridden on into blue space as far as knowledge of him on the Nopalito went.
The next morning at eight o'clock a horseman loped out of the brush to the Nopalito ranch-house. He dismounted stiffly, and strode, with whizzing spurs, to the house. His horse gave a great sigh and swayed foam-streaked, with down-drooping head and closed eyes. But waste not your pity upon Belshazzar, the flea-bitten sorrel.
The next morning at eight o'clock a horseman loped out of the brush to the Nopalito ranch-house. He dismounted stiffly, and strode, with whizzing spurs, to the house. His horse gave a great sigh and swayed foam-streaked, with down-drooping head and closed eyes. But waste not your pity upon Belshazzar, the flea-bitten sorrel.
Yeager The Nopalito Ranch: Dear Madam: I am instructed by the owners of the Rancho Seco to purchase 100 head of two and three-year-old cows of the Sussex breed owned by you. If you can fill the order please deliver the cattle to the bearer; and a check will be forwarded to you at once. Respectfully, Webster Yeager, Manager the Rancho Seco.
To-day, in Nopalito horse-pasture he survives, pampered, beloved, unridden, cherished record-holder of long-distance rides. The horseman stumbled into the house. Two arms fell around his neck, and someone cried out in the voice of woman and queen alike: "Webb oh, Webb!" "I was a skunk," said Webb Yeager. "Hush," said Santa, "did you see it?" "I saw it," said Webb.
Word Of The Day