Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 26, 2025
The jolts jerked the rider forward and back like a jack-knife without a spring. He went flying over the head of the bronco to the ground. The animal, red-eyed with hate, lunged for the helpless puncher. A second time Billie's rope snaked forward. The loop fell true over the head of the gelding, tightened, and swung the outlaw to one side so that his hoofs missed the Irishman.
You can't miss it," said the cowboy who had spoken first. "Well, so-long, gents. If I get that job and any of you boys come out to the hotel, I'll sure feed you good." An eddy of smoke followed Sundown as he passed through the doorway. A cowboy snickered. The room became silent. "Call the poor ramblin' lightnin'-rod back," suggested a kindly puncher.
Nothing more was said about the trip to town until late Wednesday evening. As Knowles slammed shut his book and the young men rose to withdraw to the bunkhouse, he asked Gowan casually: "Got those harness hawsses in the corral?" "Brought 'em in this afternoon. Greased the buckboard and overhauled the harness. Everything's in shape," answered the puncher. Knowles merely nodded.
The puncher knew that if he had room Miller would hammer his face to a pulp. He drew himself close to the barrel body, arms and legs wound tight like hoops. Miller gave a yell of pain. Instinctively Dave moved his legs higher and clamped them tighter. The yell rose again, became a scream of agony. "Lemme loose!" shrieked the man on top. "My Gawd, you're killin' me!"
He just twisted his ankle gettin' out of his bunk in a hurry t' take a pot shot at th' bunch that tried to hold us up. Doc. Tunison says he'll be all right in a week." "But Tunison is a horse doctor!" objected Bud, for Babe, the fat assistant foreman of Diamond X, was a prime favorite with him and his cousins. "Yes, shore he is! Why not? A horse doctor for a cow puncher!" chuckled Yellin' Kid.
The Jack Tar just arrived from the bush or some up-country station with a cheque for a year's wages, bent on a spree, and standing drinks all round while his money lasted, the Scottish shepherd plying liquor and grasping hands for "Auld Lang Syne," the wretched debauched crawler, the villainous-looking "lag" from "t'other side," the bullock puncher, whose every alternate word was a profane oath, the stockrider, in his guernsey shirt and knee boots with stockwhip thrown over his shoulder, engaging the attention of those who would listen with some miraculous story of his exploits, mine host smilingly dealing out the fiery poison, with now and again the presence of the dripping forder from the river, come in for his glass of grog and pipe before resuming his perilous occupation.
It was hardly more than a scratch, but while the doctor was making his preparations the puncher went pale as service-berry blossoms. He sat down, grown suddenly faint. The bite of a mad dog held sinister possibilities. Blister fussed around cheerfully until the doctor had finished. "Every silver l-lining has got its cloud, don't you r-reckon? Here's Jake Houck now, all s-set for a massacree.
He walked off with Miss Tucker, leaving Bill Lumm standing on the pavement scratching his 'ead and staring arter 'im as though 'e didn't quite know wot to make of it. Bill stood there for pretty near five minutes, and then arter asking Sam and Peter, who 'ad been standing by listening, whether they wanted anything for themselves, walked off to ask 'is pals wot they knew about the Sydney Puncher.
There was no harm done, as the puncher was too unsteady." As the crowd dispersed from the restaurant, I returned to the livery stable, where Straw and several of our outfit were explaining to the old mendicant that he had simply outplayed his opponent, and it was too bad that they were not better posted in sacred music.
Willett could have done was to come over and see how his best "puncher" was getting on, and somebody else replied, in low tone, that any one could see Willett had no thoughts for anything or anybody outside of Fort Scott, whereupon somebody Number 1 replied that Willett had been at his "shack" most of the afternoon, packing some things and burning others, and had taken the midnight train at Duncan Switch, ten miles west of Braska.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking