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Updated: June 24, 2025
They were not written for carefully edited, thrice- proofread, leather-bound volumes, but ground out for the unwashed hand of a Waco printer's devil, done into hastily set type and jammed between badly set beer ads and patent medicine testimonials, on a thin, little job-press sheet that could be rolled up and stuck through a wedding ring.
He pelts an' pounds that committee with a hailstorm of observations, ontil all they can do is set thar an' wag their y'ears an' bat their eyes. Waco Anderson himse'f allows, when discussin' said oration later, that he ain't beheld nothin' so muddy an' so much since the last big flood on the Brazos.
"They say he's put more than one man across the divide," he told his father. "But not on an even break," said Waring. "Get that hombre on his horse. He's in bad shape." Lorry helped Waco to mount. They rode toward Stacey. Waring rode with them until the trail forked. "I was on my way to the Starr Ranch," he told Lorry. "I think I can make it all right with Starr, if you say the word."
No one seemed to want for food, tobacco, or whiskey. The "boss," a sharp-featured young man, aggressive and apparently educated, asked Waco some questions which the tramp answered lamely. The boss, eager for recruits of Waco's stamp, nevertheless demurred until Waco reiterated the statement that he could cook, was a good cook and had earned good money. "I'll give you a renewal of your card.
Waco, despite his many shortcomings, could cook, and, strangely enough, liked to putter round the garden. Picked up half-starving on the mesa road, near St. Johns, he had been brought to the ranch by Pat, where a month of clean air and industry had reshaped the tramp to something like a man. Both Pat and Waring knew that the hobo was wanted in Stacey.
One of them claimed to be a carpenter, another an ex-railroad man, and the third an iron moulder. Waco, to keep up appearances, said that he was a cook; that he had lost his job in the Northern camps on account of trouble between the independent lumbermen and the I.W.W. It happened that there had been some trouble of that kind recently, so his word was taken at its face value.
He knew that name. Slowly he realized that the man on the big buckskin meant what he said when he asserted that there would be no trouble. "Well, I'm foreman of the Starr, and you're fired!" he told Lorry. "That's no news," said Lorry, grinning. "And I'm goin' to herd this hoss-thief to camp," he continued, spurring toward Waco, who had started to walk away.
While they ate Waco asked them if they belonged to the I.W.W. They did to a man. He had lost his card. Where could he get a renewal? From headquarters, of course. But he had been given his card up in Portland; he had cooked in a lumber camp. In that case he would have to see the "boss" at Phoenix. There were three men in the party besides Waco.
Yellow City makes no sech demands of its servants; wherefore, I repeats, that if this Easy Aaron sits mute where he is, we agrees to cut Shoestring's bonds an' restore him to that freedom whereof he makes sech florid use." "'At this, Easy Aaron stands up, puffs out his chest, bows to Waco an' the others, an' evolves 'em a patronisin' gesture signifyin' that their bluff is called.
Waring sent a man to catch up the team. Ramon cooked supper. The men ate in silence. After supper Waring changed his clothes, saddled Dex, and packed some food in the saddle-pockets. "I am going out to look for Pat," he told one of his men. "If Waco shows up, keep him here till I get back. Those horses didn't get away from Pat. Here's a signed check. Get what you need and keep on with the work.
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