THE STORY OF LESTER
Bud’s sleep of exhaustion was ended by the sound of voices calling to one another. So deep had been his unconsciousness that as he slowly struggled back to light and reason he forgot where he was and what had happened.
One thing was certain, the sun had been up a long while, and it was growing extremely hot even under the sheltering cottonwood tree where he lay.
The voices continued to call to one another, and Bud finally sat up to investigate.
On the opposite bank another camp was being made by bow-legged men who wore heavy chaps over their trousers, broad hats, and knotted neckerchiefs. Some of these men limped, and most of them swore at their cramped toes as they went about the business in hand.
A short distance away from where Bud sat some of the sheepmen were lying comfortably on their elbows, chaffing the punchers.
“I allow you cowmen’re gettin’ pretty swell,” 290 remarked one. “They tell me yuh kinder hanker after photygrafts of yerselves. How about it?”
“Better lose a hoss fer the sake of yer good looks than be a comic valentine all yore life, what?” was the drawling retort.
“Mebbe so, but if I’d lost hosses the way you fellers did last night I wouldn’t have enough vanity left no ways to look a pony in the left leg. I’d go to raisin’ grasshoppers to sell to old ladies’ chicken ranches, I plumb would.”
At this sally such a guffaw of laughter greeted the discomfited punchers that they retired from the field for the time being. Larkin grinned with the rest. Then he turned his attention to the little tent set up near by between two trees. He remembered that Julie had slept there and wondered if she were awake yet.