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Updated: June 1, 2025
Mr Stronach crossed the yellow Highland cows and heifers with shorthorn bulls, and the result was very successful. Mr Stronach was also an exhibitor at the Paris show. I have only glanced at the breeders of shorthorns in the north; in conclusion, I may notice some of those noblemen and gentlemen who have distinguished themselves as breeders of Aberdeen and Angus polled cattle.
Then "like mother, like son," he, too, sat down on the doorsill and laughed as only youth and health and joy can laugh, for, heading straight for the door was the fat young Shorthorn, saddled with an enormous feather-bed, and plodding at her heels was old Billy Norris, grinning sheepishly. It took just three seconds for the hands of father and son to meet.
She checked her horse and waited for the animal to rise again. But it could not it had snapped a fore ankle in a freshly dug badger hole. The shorthorn was a favorite and, as befitted her good blood, carried across her dewlap the string of silver sleigh-bells that in wintertime tinkled before the pung.
"If yer throw in a six-shooter fer odds." "All right, pard, jest ter show yer thet I ain't no shorthorn, I'll go yer. I've got a shooter in my war-bag up ter camp what'll kick ther arm outer yer socket every time yer pulls ther trigger, but she'll send a bullet through a six-inch oak beam." "Anything, so it's odds. I'll go yer. I reckon I could sell it fer a dollar er so."
"'It's as I fears, says Dave, shakin' his head a heap loogubrious, 'that Tucson outfit is morally goin' to waste. It's worse than careless; it's callous. That's whatever; that camp is callous. Was you aimin' to stay for long in Wolfville with this yere title? asks Dave at last. "The shorthorn mentions a week. "'This yere Wolfville, explains Dave, 'is too small for all that name.
It's a common scandal how dead innocent this yere shorthorn Davis assoomes to be; how he wants Cherokee to explain faro-bank to him; an' how he can't onderstand none why Black Jack an' the dance-hall won't mix no drinks.
The world, by consent, has crowned the Shorthorn Durham as the best blood that ever a horned animal carried in its veins. Princely connoisseurs and amateurs, and all the dilettanti as well as practical agriculturists of Christendom, are giving more thought to the perfection and perpetuation of this blood than to any other name and breed.
Got nothin' but jerked beef an' hard-tack. How are things a-stackin', Joe?" asked a heavy-set, bow-legged man with a cold, fishy eye. "Looks good, Dave. I'll lead the cattle to you. It'll be up to you an' Albeen an' Dumont to make a get-away with 'em." "Don't you worry none about that. Once I get these beeves on the trail there can't no shorthorn cattleman take 'em away from me."
You come across, clean you hear me! You shape up to man's size or I'll hunt you up an' tear the gizzard out of you! You jam that there cap-shooter back where it belongs or I'll take it away from you an' make you eat it! You hear me!" The pistol went back; Masten's face was ashen beneath the mud on it. "Now grin, you sufferin' shorthorn!" came the rider's voice again, low as before.
'Yuh never kin tell what's going to happen, but we-all have a sneakin' idea that our man is jest goin' to run away from any shorthorn you guys kin put up. "'Oh, is that so? he jeers, real triumphant-like, 'well, I got a little piece o' change that I'm willin' to put up on our man. How do yuh feel? "Waal, I wasn't goin' to let the guy bluff me, so I covers his money to the tune o' fifty bucks.
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