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Updated: June 26, 2025
The brass gongs clanged down in the bowels of H.M.S. Puncher and she gradually lost what little weigh she had, rolling her bridge ends under in the heave and hollow of a beam-on monsoon sea. "How much does he say he wants?" asked her commander.
He hung the tarp in a conspicuous place and retired to rest. The following morning his efforts were applauded with much picturesque expletive, and even criticism was evoked by a lean puncher who insisted "that the tall guy might be a good cook all right, but he sure didn't know how to spell 'calf." Naturally the puncher's erudition leaned toward cattle and the range.
Do you reckon I'd let any fella chloroform me with the butt of a .45 and not turn loose? I tell you, if Jack had been a-goin' to get Fade right, you'd 'a' found 'em closter together. And that ain't all. If Jack had wanted to get Fade, you can bet he wouldn't got walloped on the head first. The gun that got Fade weren't packed by a puncher." "Will they be any more shootin'?" queried Sundown.
Almost always that relief failed to materialize, and Buck, unable to leave the herd, reeling with fatigue and cursing impotently, had to keep at it till daybreak. The erring puncher generally had an excellent excuse, which might have passed muster once, but which grew threadbare with repetition.
In time she would perhaps recover her self-esteem, but she would never know in its fullness that divine right of American maidenhood to rule its environment and make demands of it. The prediction made by Blister Haines that some overbearing puncher would bully Bob because of his reputation as safe game did not long wait fulfillment. A new rider joined the Slash Lazy D outfit.
But there was one thing that Whitey envied the cowboys on the ranch their boots. For you must know that there are two things on which a puncher spends his money extravagantly his boots and his saddle. Unless he happens to be a Mexican then he spends it on his hat, too.
I wonder if the puncher lives that didn't sell his saddle and bed, and reform at least once in his checkered career! "I had a fair-sized roll so I took the home trail back to Minnesota, and chewed on the fatted calf all last winter and this summer. It wasn't bad, only the girls run in bunches and are dead anxious to tie up to some male human.
It looks like it's up to you to do some hunting, 'stead of cultivating a belly-ache at my expense. I ain't trying to keep you, God knows!" Hopalong glanced out of the window as he considered, and saw, entering the saloon, the same puncher who had confessed to seeing his horse. "Hey Dave; wait a minute!" and he dashed out of the store and made good time towards the liquid refreshment parlor.
Picking it up, Hoover snapped the weapon open, emptied the cylinders of the cartridges. Jack made no move to defend himself. He was aware his friends could protect him. "That'll do," he said to the raging, disarmed puncher. "You can go, Buck. When I want you in any festivities, I'll send a special invite to you." "I'm sure much obliged," sneered McKee, making his way toward the door.
There was one while, I admit, when the Doc made me some nervous, when I thought of all them soft spots in my spine, and all them bones liable to get loose any minute and go to pressin' on them. But I had to take my chances, like any other cow puncher at forty-five a month." "You ought to raise his wages, Mac," said Doc Tomlinson to McKinney, the ranch foreman, but the latter only grunted. "Mr.
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