"The ole
man expects me to go down to Sweet Water and bring home a bunch of
calves; but, thunder! calves just loves to play, and the ole man's got
so quiet that Peace troubles his mind. Where you goin'?"
"Well," says Ag, sincerely, "you can search me."
"Fits me to half a pound," says the puncher; "ain't nothin' suits me
better than to fall against somethin' I don't know the name of. Darn
calves; if there's anything I don't like some more than other things,
calves is the party of the first part---- Yekhoo!" says he, "c'm round
here, Mary Jane." With that he waved his leg over the saddle and we
was off.
"You fellers got any money?" says the puncher. We told him we was
entirely innocent in that respect.
"Well, I got fifty of my own, and two hundred the ole man give me to
buy any likely stock I might see. He'll stand on one leg and talk
naughty to me when he finds I've spent it, but, Lord! there's no use
remembering things that ain't happened yet, and besides, _he_ was a
hopper grass that flew, when _he_ was a youngster. So that's all
right. Gosh! don't it feel good to be out in the real fresh air oncet
more!"
It sure was good. We made it, ride and tie, northeast by the compass.
There's one good thing about these United States--so long's you keep
movin' you're sure to run into a town somewheres.
We spent three nights out. Every camp, before rollin' in, Ag and me
and the cow-puncher made up a quartette and sang, "How dear to my heart
is the scenes of my chi-i-i-i-i-i-ldhood," "Old Black Joe," and so
forth, then laid down in faith no critter would trouble us that night.
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