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Updated: June 26, 2025
The process of lubrication was brief; and "Have another?" queried the tramp. "I ain't all broke only I ain't payin' dividen's, bein' hard times." "Keep your two-bits," said the puncher. "This is on me. You're goin' to furnish the chaser, Go to it and cinch up them there 'saddest." "Bein' just two-bits this side of bein' a socialist, I guess I'll keep me change.
Having a dude puncher on our range kind of stirred up my emulosity. They don't have real cowboy attire like his at an ordinary shorthorn cow town like Stockchute but I did the best I could." Blake made no response to this heavy badinage. He set the supper on the chuck-box, and laconically said: "Come and get it."
First, you come to town and buy one of the fastest dog teams in Alaska. Why?" "That's an easy one. I bought that team to win the Alaska Sweepstakes from you. And I'm goin' to do it. The team wasn't handled right or it would have won last time. I got to millin' it over and figured that old Gid Holt was the dog puncher that could land those huskies in front. See?"
The challenged puncher stretched out a limb and showed his muscles with young pride. "And yu' cert'nly take no comfort in your food," his ingenious friend continued, slowly and gently. "I'll eat you a match any day and place yu' name," said Lin. "It ain't sca'cely hon'able," went on the Virginian, "to waste away durin' the round-up. A man owes his strength to them that hires it.
"I tell you it's no half-inch yet, gentlemen," said Jode, ignoring the facetious puncher. "You're mistaken," said Hilbrun, sharply. "It's a plumb big show, half-inch or no half-inch," said Lin. "If he's short he don't get his money," said some ignoble subscriber "Yes, he will," said the Governor, "or I'm a short. He's earned it." "You bet " said Lin. "Fair and square.
She had Ward doubled over the horn again and shouting so that the canyon walls roared echoes for three full minutes. "I've always wanted to hear the Chisholm Trail. I know how it was sung from Mexico north on the old cattle-trails, and how every ambitious puncher who had enough imagination and could make a rhyme, added a verse or so, till it's really a a classic of the cow-camps."
There was something different about the man who had searched the Staked Plain with Hopalong and Red: he was not the same puncher who had arrived from Montana three weeks before. There was lacking a certain air of carelessness and he chilled his friends, who looked upon him as if they had never really known him. He walked up to Mr. Trendley and gazed deeply into the evil eyes.
"Who, Captain!" sez a tall, lanky, sad-lookin' puncher. "Well, it ain't likely that you can find a man in the West who wouldn't recognize that pony by the description. That there pony was in the Custer Massacre." "The gentleman what owns him is goin' to shoot him," sez the tourist. "Well, perhaps it's all for the best," sez the sad one.
His spine straightened rigidly; a solemn light came into his eye; a cough that fairly choked with wisdom echoed from his throat. It was a great day for Blackman, J. P. "Do I know this man, this cow puncher?" said he. "Of course I know him, damn him, and I know what he done, too. Such a high-handed act never ought to be tolerated, sir!
"Yes; Ashton feeds him sugar, like he does the rest of you," rejoined the puncher. "It ain't natural in his brand of tenderfoot Bound to ride out, if there's any riding to do; bound to fuss and stew around the corral; bound to help with the haying; bound to help haul the water; bound to practice with his rope every moment he ain't doing something else.
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