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Updated: May 7, 2025
The fingers about to close on the handle of the revolver grew limp, the Greek's head, a hideous, scarcely recognizable mass, slumped to one side and lay perfectly still. An instant longer the Ramblin' Kid looked at him, then reached over, picked up his gun and slipped it into the holster at his hip. As he straightened up, Tom Poole, the marshal, rushed into the pool-room.
"Blamed if he'll stand a bit of joshing on that subject!" Bert muttered, his own face flushing from the look the Ramblin' Kid had given him. "Not a darned bit," Chuck added, "but it is funny; the way he shys off from Carolyn June!" "Th' Ramblin' Kid ain't interested in women," Charley said, as they pitched their plates to one side and the meal was finished.
Flip Williams interrupted, "ain't neither of you going to take part?" "Probably not," Skinny drawled. "I ain't aiming to, and I don't know what th' Ramblin? Kid is figuring on. He ain't much for showing off.
After supper Skinny and the Ramblin' Kid went to the picture show Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays were "movie nights" in Eagle Butte and saw a thrilling "wild-west" drama in which a band of Holstein milk cows raced madly through an alfalfa field in a frenzied, hair-raising stampede! When the show was over the Ramblin' Kid started toward the livery barn. "What you going to do?" Skinny queried.
The Ramblin' Kid heard Carolyn June step up to the gate of the corral and from the heavy shadow in which he lay saw the light dress and instinctively recognized this late visitor to Captain Jack and the Gold Dust maverick His first impulse was to call out and warn her to keep away from the horses that both were dangerous for men to fool with, much less was it safe for a woman to undertake familiarities with them.
"Th' Ramblin' Kid don't need to back the filly with his money, Dorsey," Old Heck said slowly and in a voice audible in every part of the room; "I'm here to back her with mine! You've done a lot of talking now, damn you, cover your chatter with coin or shut up!" the end of the sentence coming like the crack of a whip. With a nervous laugh the Vermejo cattleman jerked a wallet from his pocket.
An hour later Old Heck, Bert, Charley and the Ramblin' Kid rode away from the ranch to help Chuck, Skinny and Pedro round up and return to the big pasture the cattle that had broken out and were rushing toward their old range on the Purgatory.
While these stirring events were going on, our friend Andrew Black and Ramblin' Peter were languishing in the unsavoury shades of the Tolbooth Prison. One forenoon Andrew was awakened from an uneasy slumber. They bade him rise.
"Old Heck's got a letter," Skinny said, jerkily; "maybe's it's bad news an' he ought to have it quick," as the Ramblin' Kid reached for a yellow envelope held in the outstretched hand. At that instant Old Heck, owner and boss of the Quarter Circle KT cow outfit, stepped from the shadow of the open ranch-house door.
Dorsey snarled contemptuously, "a hell of a fast horse!" he repeated, "when the Ramblin' Kid himself declines to risk a dollar of his own money on the running qualities of the critter!" referring to the conversation a few hours before in the entry judges' office.
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