But Joe forestalled Hank by saying, “Lanky, you didn’t git enough sleep last night, what with all that rattlesnake skeer. I seen you noddin’ while Hank was a-tellin’ about that sheepherder of Old Man Mason’s, though I couldn’t blame you much for that. Go to bed, son, and maybe we’ll see a milamo bird tomorrow.”
BIRDS AND BEASTS
It was Lanky’s third night in cow camp. The herd had been bedded, and the first night shift had gone on. Lanky, sore of muscle, but extremely contented, sat by the fire with Red Wallace, Hank Williams, and Joe Martin, the men who on the first night had imparted to him the esoteric lore of the rattlesnake, and who on the second night had entertained him with yarns of marvelous speed.
Lanky had proved a good listener. He had done his best to appear credulous. He had interrupted seldom, and when he had, he had always followed his cue, and had propounded only the questions that the narrators wanted him to ask. It is not surprising, therefore, that on this night the older men were loaded for him.
It was Red Wallace that discharged the first missile.
“We ’as speakin’ of milamo birds last night,” he observed. “I seen sign today, lots of sign.”
“That’s funny; I done that very same thing,” said Hank. “I seen, I reckon, a hundred holes where they’d been feedin’.”
“Do you suppose we’re likely to see any of them?” asked Lanky.
“Not likely,” said Joe, “not likely. They’re mighty scerce these days, mighty scerce, and mighty shy, mighty shy. I ain’t seen one in years. You might keep your eye peeled though; we might happen on one any time. We might. You never can tell.”
“Yeah, we might,” broke in Hank. “Still we’re more likely to hear one than to see one. They’ve got a way of knowin’ when somebody’s about, though he’s a mile off. Yeah, they’re mighty hard to see, ’specially these days; mighty hard to see.”