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John Flint cast upon this charming likeness one brief and pregnant glance. "Regular old Durham shorthorn, isn't he?" he commented in a low voice. "Wants to charge right out of his frame and trample. Take a look at that nose, parson like a double-barreled shotgun, for all the world! Beautiful brute, Inglesby. Makes you think of that minotaur sideshow they used to put over on the Greeks."
That shorthorn yearling at th' end of th' line" pointing to a young man who looked capable of taking risks "he looks like he might take a chance an' gamble with yu," remarked Mr. Cassidy, placing Mr. Travennes in front of him and pushing back his own sombrero. "Don't put too much maple juice on them flapjacks, Red," he warned as he poked his captive in the back of the neck as a hint to get along.
This Cimmaron Pete comes trailin' in one day; an' a shorthorn called Glidden, who runs a store at the ford, comes ropin' at Cimmaron Pete to race ponies. ""What for stakes do you-all aim to race for?" demands this Cimmaron Pete. ""I'll run you for hoss an' saddle," says Glidden. ""Say hoss ag'in hoss," says Cimmaron Pete, "an' I'm liable to go you. Saddles is hard to get, an' I won't resk mine.
He hesitated, then said a trifle apologetically: "You told me, Mr. Forrest, to remind you of the proofs of your Shorthorn book. They wired their second hurry-up yesterday." "I won't be able to tackle it myself," Dick replied. "Will you please correct the typographical, submit the proofs to Mr.
And his fierce black eyes were full of a violent heat, rendered more savage for its bottling up during his long ride. "Trouble?" Then he exploded with a furious oath, and his volcanic temper drowned the sunburn of his cheek under a living heat. "Them rustlers. Them lousy bums," he cried almost choking. "That bunch o' yearlings Shorthorn yearlings, Miss.
I ain't no shorthorn, Pierre le Rouge." He stepped aside, frowning. "Tomorrow I'll argue the point with you, Jack." She turned at the door and snapped back: "You? You ain't fast enough on the draw to argue with me!" And she was gone. He turned to face the mocking smile of Black Gandil and a rapid volley of questions. "Where's Patterson?" "No more idea than you have." "And Branch?"
Still, this yere removal of Jaybird don't take place till mighty near the close of the round-up; an' intervenin', he's pirootin' 'round, stockin' the kyards an' settin' up hands on the pore shorthorn continuous.
In the rush of his retreat down the canyon slope, he had plunged into a bunch of shorthorn steers, who, far more startled than he, had rolled him on the forest floor, trampled over him in their panic, and smashed his rifle under their hoofs.
She saw Captain Hunken draw his hand horizontally with a slow explanatory gesture and then drop it abruptly at a right angle. 'Bias was, in fact, at that moment expounding to Cai, point by point and in a condescending way, the right outline of a prize Devon shorthorn. "A trifle o' bluffness in the entry don't matter, if you understand me," said 'Bias, retrieving his lesson.
He knew of the presence of the mountain lion, adrift down from Mendocino County, ere the first shorthorn calf was slain, and came home from the encounter, torn and bleeding, to attest what he had discovered and to be the cause of Harley Kennan riding trail next day with a rifle across his pommel.
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