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Updated: June 30, 2025
For three days they did not speak to him, except to reply to his own questions or remarks. And they spoke with absolute and unfailing politeness. They played tricks on one another; they pounded one another hurtfully and affectionately; they heaped upon one another's heads friendly curses and obloquy; but they were polite to Curly. He saw it, and it stung him as much as Ranse hoped it would.
Ranse went to the water barrel and washed the red from a cut on his chin in the stream from the faucet. On his face was a grin of satisfaction. Much benefit might accrue to educators and moralists if they could know the details of the curriculum of reclamation through which Ranse put his waif during the month that he spent in the San Gabriel camp.
"All right," said Ranse. "I reckon you're a maverick for certain. I'm going to put the Rancho Cibolo brand on you. I'll start you to work in one of the camps to-morrow." "Work!" sniffed Curly, disdainfully. "What do you take me for? Do you think I'd chase cows, and hop-skip-and-jump around after crazy sheep like that pink and yellow guy at the store says these Reubs do? Forget it."
I went up to the store and borrowed a razor from that fresh guy and had a shave. But that ain't all a man needs. Say can't you loosen up for about three fingers more of that booze? I never asked you to bring me to your d d farm." "Stand up out here in the light," said Ranse, looking at him closely. Curly got up sullenly and took a step or two. His face, now shaven smooth, seemed transformed.
Close the door, Don Ransom, and I will speak. I see in your face that you know." An hour Ranse spent behind Tia Juana's closed door. As he was on his way back to the house Curly called to him from the wagon-shed. The tramp sat on his cot, swinging his feet and smoking. "Say, sport," he grumbled. "This is no way to treat a man after kidnappin' him.
"I ain't got any mother, Dave." Again she choked in her throat. "You wouldn't take advantage of me, would you?" He protested hotly. Desiring only to be convinced, 'Lindy took one last precaution. "Swear you'll do right by me always." He swore it. She put her hand in his and he led her to the boat. Ranse Roush was at the oars. Before he had taken a dozen strokes a wave of terror swept over her.
His eyes were swollen slits; his nose a pickled beet; his hair would have made the wildest thatch of a Jack-in-the-box look like the satin poll of a Cleo de Merode. The rest of him was scarecrow done to the life. Ranse jumped down from his seat and looked at his strange cargo with wide-open eyes. "Here, you maverick, what are you doing in my wagon? How did you get in there?"
Ranse walked out toward the /jacals/. A boy came running. "Manuel, can you catch Vaminos, in the little pasture, for me?" "Why not, senor? I saw him near the /puerta/ but two hours past. He bears a drag-rope." "Get him and saddle him as quick as you can." "/Prontito, senor/."
The charco, or water hole, was twelve yards away. Ranse took one of Curly's ankles and dragged him like a sack of potatoes to the brink. Then with the strength and sleight of a hammer-thrower he hurled the offending member of society far into the lake. Curly crawled out and up the bank spluttering like a porpoise. Ranse met him with a piece of soap and a coarse towel in his hands.
"The same," said Ranse, slowly. "I promised him that his son would never marry a Curtis. Somehow I couldn't go against him. He's mighty old. I'm sorry, Yenna." The girl leaned in her saddle and laid one hand on Ranse's, on the horn of his saddle. "I never thought I'd like you better for giving me up," she said ardently, "but I do. I must ride back now, Ranse.
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