“‘Naw, he ain’t at home right now,’ says his wife. ‘Git down and look at your saddles, and come in and eat.’
“‘Where is he this mornin’?’ I asks.
“‘He left ’bout nine o’clock,’ she says. ‘He’s goin’ over to Phoenix. Said he might go by Roswell.’
“‘I reckon we won’t git to see him,’ I says.
“‘Jest unsaddle your hosses,’ she says. ‘I look for him back about an hour by sun, that is, if he don’t have no hard luck.’
“‘Wonder if you could tell us where his fast bull is?’ I says. ‘We come over to see him.’
“‘Oh,’ she says, ‘he’s ridin’ the bull. That’s how I know he’ll git back tonight.’”
“I reckon that bull could of outrun a milamo bird,” said Hank.
“No doubt he could,” said Joe. “No doubt he could.”
“What is a milamo bird like?” asked Lanky.