“Now listen, you two,” Blakeman said, perceptibly angered. “I don’t have to take any sarcasm from a couple of cow stooges like you! I’ll show you what I can do. I’ll be on hand for the bulldoggin’ and I hope you lugs lay your money against me!”
Having delivered himself of this defy, Forest Blakeman turned on his heel and walked off.
“We’ll be there to see it, won’t we, Alkali?” Lefty chortled.
“With both of our hair in one braid,” Alkali agreed.
“Just wait till Blake goes up against Catapult. Boy, oh boy, will that steer ruin him?”
Connie did not quite follow the two men’s conversation. She wondered who this Catapult might be.
“Why, that’s Pop Bradshaw’s prize bulldoggin’ steer, Miss Connie,” Lefty explained. “That old hunk of animated baloney has got a neck that’s made of pure spring steel.”
“It sure is,” Alkali confirmed. “That steer ain’t never been throwed in his whole life. If you ask me there ain’t a man a-livin’ who can do it, nuther.”
“He must be quite an animal,” Connie remarked, laughing.
“Blakeman’s been braggin’ all winter he’s a champeen bulldogger,” Alkali went on contemptuously. “No one round here ain’t even seen him toss up a cow!”