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Stillwell's kind and heavy hand fell upon the cowboy's shoulder. "Danny, what's all this queer gab?" he asked. "An' you're takin' some liberty with Miss Hammond, who never seen you before. Sure I'm makin' allowance fer amazin' strange talk. I see you're not drinkin'. Mebbe you're plumb locoed. Come, ease up now an' talk sense." The cowboy's fine, frank face broke into a smile.
The cowboy's extraordinary resistance broke with the blow; he lay so long like a dead man where he fell that his comrades brought whisky to revive him. Presently he struggled to hands and knees, where he stood coughing blood, Morgan waiting by to see what would follow. "Take them knucks away from him! he slugged me!" Morgan was amazed to hear the fellow charge. "That's not so!" Morgan denied.
He was, however, not so absorbed in the scenery but that he took sharp note of the cowboy's unsophisticated garb and guileless mien. Later, when Steve went into the smoker, he struck up acquaintance with him; initiated by the mere demand for a light, continued through community of interest, as both being evidently non-urban.
With the old instinctive motion, comparable in swiftness to nothing save the passage of light, the cowboy's hands went to his hips, and as swiftly returned with the muzzles of two great revolvers protruding like elongated index fingers. With equal swiftness, his face had undergone a transformation. His jaw was set and his blue eyes flashed like live coals.
"Moore, show up that wagon-load of stuff unless you want me to throw it out in the road." "Belllounds, you know I can't do that," replied Moore, coldly. "And I'll give you a hunch. You'd better shut up yourself and let me drive on.... If not for her sake, then for your own." Belllounds grasped the reins, and with a sudden jerk pulled them out of the cowboy's hands. "You damn club-foot!
But exciting as these adventures are, they possess no such fascination for Baden-Powell as the life in breeches, gaiters, flannel-shirt, and cowboy's hat when the mountains infested with murderous natives are blurred by the night, and he is free to steal in among their shadows at his will, and creep noiselessly through the enemy's lines.
"WELL, I reckon the cowboy's gone back to 'tend to his cows," remarked the grandmother to Adelaide, as she returned from taking Percy to Blue Mound and found the old lady sitting on the lawn bench apparently enjoying the mild late November weather. "Did you leave him at the station or see him off?" "Neither," Adelaide replied, sitting down beside her.
Close at hand also was a cowboy's bed rolled up in a tarpaulin. The cool air, fragrant with pine and spruce and some subtle nameless tang, sweet and tonic, made Madeline stand erect and breathe slowly and deeply. It was like drinking of a magic draught. She felt it in her blood, that it quickened its flow.
"If you'd let them sturrups out like I told you and quit tryin' to set down standin' up, ridin' wouldn't tire you so much." Teeters looked at the English pigskin saddle in frank disgust. Toomey ignored the criticism and said arrogantly: "I want you to follow me from now on." An ominous glint came in the cowboy's eye, but he still grinned. "I wa'nt broke to foller.
The figures loomed clearer in the gloom.. Gale saw five or six horses, two with riders, and one other, at least, carrying a pack. When Gale got within fifteen feet of the group the foremost horseman said: "I reckon that's close enough, stranger." Something in the cowboy's hand glinted darkly bright in the starlight. "You'd recognize me, if it wasn't so dark," replied Gale, halting.
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