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Updated: June 23, 2025
I wasn't much acquainted over in Danders, an' I thought it would be easy slidin'; but the first feller I met was a useless sort of a cuss what had been punchin' cows at the Diamond Dot the time the Prophy Gang tried to clean it out, an' he has to tell 'em who I am, an' they had all heard about me an' Bill Andrews; so 'at it was purt' nigh impossible for me to hold out.
Got tired of punchin' an' reckoned I'd get rich." Here he smiled and glanced at the hole. "How're yu makin' out?" He asked. "'Bout five dollars a day apiece, but that ain't nothin' when grub's so high. Got reckless th' other day an' had a egg at fifty cents." Hopalong whistled and glanced at the empty cans at his feet. "Any marshal in this burg?" "Yep. But he's one of th' gang.
I can't see no way out, Smoke, except main strength an' sweat an' to plow through. If the whole creek was glare-ice they ain't room for a dozen teams abreast. I got a hunch right now they's goin' to be a heap of scrappin' before they get strung out. An' if any of it comes our way you got to let me do the punchin'." Smoke squared his shoulders and laughed non-committally.
Men who had their teams nearly extricated were overwhelmed by fresh avalanches of dogs each animal well-fed, well-rested, and ripe for battle. "It's knock down an' drag out an' plow through!" Shorty yelled in his partner's ear. "An' watch out for your knuckles! You drag out an' let me do the punchin'!" What happened in the next half hour Smoke never distinctly remembered.
Your Gee-Whiz man can maybe take to cow punchin' and prosper, but not Willie. His long suit is imaginin' things, from now on. "Now, that feller is naturally pinin' to write this here particular letter we've got on our minds. You watch Willie compose." "Here you, Willie, come over here!" Curly called out. The herder started in fright.
"Well, sir, Hogan is Cy in th' play; an' th' beak is pa-art iv him. What does he do? He goes up to Toolan, an' says he: 'Ye don't like me nose. It's an ilicthric light globe. Blow it out. It's a Swiss cheese. Cut it off, if ye want to. It's a brick in a hat. Kick it. It's a balloon. Hang a basket on it, an' we'll have an' ascinsion. It's a dure-bell knob. Ring it. It's a punchin' bag.
Death alive! there's no use in punchin' my sides wid your feet that way." "Well, get up now an' set your ears." "Now listen to him, Phadrick!" "It was one night in winter, when all nature shone in the nocturnal beauty of tenebrosity: the sun had set about three hours before; an', accordin' to the best logicians, there was a dearth of light.
Then Lee Haines gets up and walks up and down. "'Swann, says he, 'how many good men have you got on the place? "'Why, says I, 'they're all good! "'Huh, says Haines, and he puts a hand on my shoulder, 'Just how good are they, Swann?" "I seen what he wanted. He wanted to know how many scrappy gents was punchin' cows here; maybe them three up there figures that they might need help. From what?
"Now, when a boy comes an' says he can do anythin', why I jest haw! haw! at him. But you're a man, Wade, an' one as has been there. Now I'm hard put fer hands. Jest speak out now fer yourself. No one else can speak fer you, thet's sure. An' this is bizness." "Any work with stock, from punchin' steers to doctorin' horses," replied Wade, quietly. "Am fair carpenter an' mason. Good packer.
He's punchin' the earth full of wan thousand foot holes, and sendin' off two hundred quarts of nitroglycerine at the bottom of them, and pumpin' the accumulation across continents to furnish folks light and hate.
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