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And, softly toning its drab austerity, here grew the white sage, waving in the breeze, the Indian Paint Brush, with vivid vermilion flower, and patches of fresh, green grass. "The White King, as we Arizona wild-hoss wranglers calls this mustang, is mighty pertickler about his feed, an' he ranged along here last night, easy like, browsin' on this white sage," said Stewart.
She'd enjoyed havin' people around her who could talk English, and watchin' the white clouds sail over the green hills, and seein' her cattle and sheep browsin' about the fields. It had rested her eyes and her soul. And then, all of a sudden, she had this hunch that maybe she was missin' something. Not that she thought she could come back reg'lar, or break into the old life where she left off.
An' it seems likewise that shovin' the Stingin' Lizard from shore that time sorter takes advantage an' feeds on him. So he goes browsin' 'round the postmaster all casooal, an' puts questions. Cherokee gets a p'inter about some yearlin' or other in Tucson this Stingin' Lizard sends money to an' makes good for, which he finds the same to be fact on caperin' over. It's a nephy or some sech play.
He flies right off the handle for nothin'. He goes strayin' away off in the fields and gullies, a browsin' about with a hammer, crackin' up bits of stones like walnuts, or pickin' up old weeds, faded flowers, and what not; and stands starin' at 'em for ever so long, through his eye-glass, and keeps a savin' to himself, 'Wonderful provision of natur! Airth and seas! what does he mean?
No other Mexican seems like he wants to assoome no pressure personal; no one goes browsin' 'round to no sheriff; an' thar you be deluded into theeries that said killin's quit bein' a question. That's where you- all is the victim of error. "Which in this case the Mexican Mace stretches has uncles or somethin' down off Chaperita. Them relatives is rich.
"Fort Larned, I suppose. She went to Carson City first." "Well, that settles it," shaking his head. "You don't suppose I could go browsin' 'round Larned, and not get snapped up, do you? They don't chase deserters very far out here, but that's the post I skipped from, and they'd jug me all right. Besides, I'm damned if I'll go back until I get a stake. I want to see a fellow first." "What fellow?"
The people's mighty extemporaneous, an' don't go browsin' 'round none sendin' challenges in writin', an' that sort of flapdoodle. When a gent notices the signs a-gettin' about right for him to go on the war-path, he picks out his meat, surges up, an' declar's himse'f.
He flies right off the handle for nothin'. He goes strayin' away off in the fields and gullies, a browsin' about with a hammer, crackin' up bits of stones like walnuts, or pickin' up old weeds, faded flowers, and what not; and stands starin' at 'em for ever so long, through his eye-glass, and keeps a savin' to himself, 'Wonderful provision of natur! Airth and seas! what does he mean?
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