“Don’t mention it,” said the other, with a wave of his hand. “I don’t feel just as I did a few minutes ago.” He glanced down at the still squirming snake. “If there is a God,” he began, then stopped and shrugged his shoulders.—“Well, so long. I must be going. See you later.”
Tommy and I watched the slim, athletic figure until it had swung down on to the coulée out of sight.
“He’s a turrible man,” said Tommy, “but not a bad one after all. Well, look! will ye? I’ll be damned if thayre ain’t the bowl of that pipe!”
And picking it up we returned to the plow team.
VII
THE PUNISHMENT AND THE CRIME
THE TOO HUMOROUS PROPENSITIES OF BURT MOSSMAN AND OTHERS
When he gets a tenderfoot he ain’t afraid to rig,
Stand him on a chuck-box and make him dance a jig;
With his re-a-loading cutter he’ll make ’em sing and shout.
He’s a regular Ben Thompson—when the boss ain’t about!
—The Expert Cow-man (expurgated).
Ten thousand head of steers were waiting for cars at Dundee. There was the Bar Cross, the VV, the California outfit, the Double Ess Bar, the 7 T X, the Bar A Bar, the Sacramento Pool outfit and the Tinnin-Slaughter wagon, all the way from Toyah. This last named had bought six hundred steers on Crow Flat, road branded with two big Y’s, and drove. When they got to Dundee they were just a few shy of nine hundred head. This is by the way, and inserted only as a tribute to New Mexico’s unequaled climate.
The herds were camped in a circle around the lake, keeping an interval of about two miles from each other. Each herd had three watches of three to five men each for night-guard. But four or five men were ample for day herding; so the men took turns at that, day about, the unoccupied riding to Dundee in search of diversions. Forty or more saddle-ponies stood patiently unhitched, with dangling reins, in the plaza.