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Updated: May 7, 2025
Her disappointment in the character of the Ramblin' Kid, her realization of his weakness, when he had gotten, as she believed, beastly drunk at the moment so much depended on him the day of the two-mile sweepstakes, had hurt deeply. Somehow, even his magnificent ride and the fact that, in spite of his condition, he won the race, had not taken the sting away.
He backed into the street toward where Captain Jack and Old Pie Face were standing, still with his own gun covering the officer. "Jack!" he cried sharply, "meet me!" The little stallion moved toward him. With the thumb of the hand in which he held the marshal's gun the Ramblin' Kid threw open the breech and flipped the shells on the ground.
When the Ramblin' Kid, working the rope-conquered and leg-weary Gold Dust maverick from the North Springs back to the Quarter Circle KT, crossed the Cimarron at dawn Captain Jack and the filly swam a raging, drift-burdened river. Less than twelve hours later Carolyn June and Skinny, at the lower ford, rode into a stream that again was normal.
The strange interest this rough cowboy inspired in her; the confusion she felt when he had spoken to her no man among all the clever, carefully groomed, ultra-sophisticated suitors she had left in Hartville ever stirred her emotions as had the Ramblin' Kid with a few drawling words and one long look from his black, inscrutable eyes. That look!
As the Greek forced him back, bending him down and over, the Ramblin' Kid, his eyes burning like fire while a million flashes of light seemed to stab the darkness before them and needles darted through every fiber of his flesh, wrenched his right arm free and gripping the back of Sabota's shirt with his left hand to give purchase to the blow, with all the strength left in his body, drove the knuckles of his right fist into the left temple of the Greek.
The waltz was followed by another one-step and Ophelia granted this favor to Parker while Old Heck sat and swore steadily under his breath regretful that he had not sent the foreman and the cowboys out on the beef hunt a week ago! Outside, the Ramblin' Kid half-reclined on the edge of the porch.
"An' Amrak begat Meshak an' Meshak begat Zimri an' Zimri was th' founder of th' House of Old Heck," the Ramblin' Kid chanted. "What in thunder does details amount to, anyhow?" "But you was mournin' about a she!" Parker insisted.
Truly, Skinny, I'm sorry. Please don't hate me like like the Ramblin' Kid does!" she finished with a shaky little laugh. "He don't hate you," Skinny answered dully, "at least I don't think th' Ramblin' Kid hates you or anybody. And you knowed all the time that I was getting paid to make love to you? Well, I was," he added chokingly, "but I'd have done it for nothing if I'd had the chance!"
"Catch him and take it off," Carolyn June cried, "it's hurting him!" Skinny started toward the rapidly gyrating jumble of claws, can and cat. "I will if the darn' thing'll hold still a minute!" he said. Carolyn June looked at the Ramblin' Kid, still leaning against the fence watching the cat's contortions. "Why don't you help him?" she asked impatiently.
The Gold Dust maverick stood, half-afraid, at the other side of the corral. She had not yet wholly conquered her dread of him. She did not, however, offer to fight as she had done that morning when Skinny entered the enclosure. The Ramblin' Kid spoke to the filly and, as she began to move shyly away, with one toss threw the loop over her head.
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