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Updated: June 28, 2025
As a purgative, mares' milk ranks first, and, after it, in order, asses' milk, cows' milk and goats' milk, but the quality depends upon what has been fed to the cattle, upon the condition of the cattle, and upon when it is milked. "So far as concerns the food of the cattle, milk is nourishing which is made from barley and stover and other such kinds of dry and hard cattle food.
"Good Lord!" moaned Stover, weakly. "He may be the best printer in the country, mind you, but I'll lay a little bet that he can't run a hundred yards without sustenance." "Without what?" "Sustenance something to eat." "Well, we've got plenty for him to eat," said the mystified foreman. "You don't understand. However, time will tell." "But we ain't got no time.
"I'd like to know what became of Wolf Ear and Hank Stiger," remarked Dan, as he flung himself on the ground, glad enough to get out of his high and uncomfortable Mexican saddle. "They know enough to git out o' sight when thar's a fight on," answered Poke Stover, with a broad laugh. "Them kind o' varmin always does."
If this is another Humpy Joe affair I'm a-goin' to put one more notch in my gun-handle, and it looks like a cub bear had chawed it already." "There ain't but one thing to do," Stover announced, firmly. "We've got to put it up to Mr. Glass and learn the truth." "You'll find him in the bunk-house," directed Fresno. "I think I'll trail along and hear what he has to say."
"Oh, it's true as gospel," the foreman averred. "When he goes lame in his off leg they ship him back, and in spite of them handicaps he has become one rustlin' savage at a round-up." "What college did you attend?" inquired Speed, politely. The question fell upon unresponsive ears. Cloudy did not stir nor alter the direction of his sombre glance. "He don' talk none," Stover explained.
Fifty other shots rang out, and the morning air became heavy with the smoke of rifles and cannon. "We must beat 'em back!" cried Stover, who was close to Crockett, and as the old hunter blazed away so did the frontiersman and Dan, and the youth had the satisfaction of seeing the Mexican he had aimed at go down, rope and gun in hand, shot through the ankle.
He had one that hung down like a dewlap." "Phony!" "I've killed men for less," muttered the stoop-shouldered man. "Did you see his legs?" Fresno was bent upon convincing his hearers. "Couldn't help but see 'em in that runnin'-suit." "Nice and soft and white, weren't they?" "They didn't look like dark meat," Stover agreed, reluctantly. "But you can't go nothin' on the looks of a feller's legs."
Nevertheless, Speed acknowledged the introduction pleasantly, while the benevolent little man blinked back of his lenses. Stover addressed himself to Miss Blake. "I told the boys what you said, miss, and we four has come as a delegation to find out if it goes." "Mr. Speed and I were just talking about it when you came," said Helen. "I'm sure he will consent if you add your entreaties to mine."
Chapin would lend a helpin' hand." "No chance!" said Stover, grimly. "He's sore on foot-racin'. Says it disturbs us and upsets our equalubrium." Carara fetched a deep sigh. "It's ver' bad t'ing, Senor. I don' feel no worse w'en my gran'mother die." The three men loped onward through the darkness, weighted heavily with disappointment.
"Now, get me right," explained the former speaker. "He breaks trainin', and goes up to Saratoga for a little rest. While he's there he wins eight thousand dollars playin' diabolo." "Playin' what?" queried Stover. "Diabolo! He backs himself, of course." Glass took an imaginary spool from his pocket, spun it by means of an imaginary string, then sent it aloft and pretended to catch it dexterously.
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