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Updated: June 3, 2025
They hain't be'n no fancy ropin' done yet. If I c'n hind-leg mine they won't be nothin' to it." He rode swiftly away and a moment later, to the Mayor's "Go git him!" dashed out after a red and white steer that plunged down the field with head down and tail lashing the air.
It's two hundred an' fifty miles from Flagstaff to Jones range, an' only two drinks on the trail. I know this hyar Buffalo Jones. I knowed him way back in the seventies, when he was doin' them ropin' stunts thet made him famous as the preserver of the American bison. I know about that crazy trip of his'n to the Barren Lands, after musk-ox.
Fust thing you're stompin' around in your head upsettin' all that you writ tryin' to rope somethin' to put on the tail-end of the parade that'll show up strong. Kind o' like ropin' a steer. No tellin' where that pome is goin' to land you." Sundown was more than pleased with himself.
He's shorely doin' well, I reckons, when mebby it's a week later he comes chargin' over to a passel of us an' allows he wants the committee to settle some trouble which has cut his trail. ""It's about the debts of this yere Glidden, deceased," says Cimmaron. "I succeeds to the business of course; which it's little enough for departed ropin' my pony that time.
He turned to the cowboy. "Can the sorrel be saddled without ropin'?" "Bluey does," was the reply, "but I don't know that he'll let me." "Won't you saddle him for me, Bob-Cat? I know I can ride him if I have a fair show." The range-rider turned to the old Ranger. "How about it?" he said. "The kid'll hunt leather for a while and then eat grass.
"'Which I ain't been in the saddle so long, says the Major, while him an' Enright is considerin' how far they goes since sunup, 'since Mister Lee surrenders. "'You takes your part, Major, says Enright, who's ropin' for a reminiscence that a-way, 'in the battles of the late war, I believes. "'I should shorely say so, says the Major.
Sometimes in Texas or Mexico. I seen the day when they did." The young man lazily crossed his legs. "Nice and cool here," he remarked presently. "Been in town long?" asked Sweeney. "No, only a few days." "I was goin' to say there's a good show over on Spring Street movin'-pictures of the best ridin' and buckin' and ropin' I seen yet." "Yes?
"Never yeh mind about the licker. I c'n reg'late my own drinks to suit me. Mebbe I got more'n a ride a-comin' to me 'fore tonight's over." The bartender eyed him questioningly: "You usta win 'em all buckin', an' ropin', an' " "Yes, I usta!" sneered the other. "An' I could now if it wasn't fer that Texas son of a ! Fer three years hand runnin' he's drug down everything he's went into.
Mighty likely Bill's smitten; but he don't let on, the fam'ly like I relates, allers ropin' up a gent's bride. It's good bettin' this yere Saucy Willow counts up Bill. If she does, however, no more than Bill, she never tips her hand. The Saucy Willow yelps on onconcerned, like her only dream of bliss is to show the coyotes what vocal failures they be.
But you ain't got any ropin' to do, so I sh'd think an army saddle-tree would be about right. There's Rifle-Eye Bill comin' out of the bunk-house now. Ask him. He'll know." Wilbur looked up, and saw emerging from the door of the bunk-house a tall, gaunt mountaineer. He strolled over to the corral with a long, loose-jointed stride.
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