“That gal come ridin’ down the Río Grande on a catfish.”
“Well, she got on that hoss, and he give about two jumps, and she left the saddle. He throwed her so high that she had to duck as she went up to keep from bumpin’ her head on the moon. Then she come down, landin’ right on that steel bustle, and that made her bounce up jest as high, nearly, as she had went before. Well, she jest kept on bouncin’ like that for ten days and nights, and finally Bill had to shoot her to keep her from starvin’ to death. It nearly broke his heart. That was the only time Bill had ever been known to shed tears, and he was so tore up that he wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with a woman for two weeks.”
[2] A type of loop. Pronounced hoolián.
THE EXODUS OF PECOS BILL
Lanky had been sent for, and this was his last night in camp. His face was tanned; he had gained in weight; he had earned money in his own right. He felt that he was now a man.
He and his cronies sat around the fire in silence. Joe and the boys would miss the kid, and he hated to leave. This silence wouldn’t do.
“What became of Pecos Bill?” asked Lanky.
“That would be hard to say,” said Joe, “hard to say. Everybody knows he’s gone, jest like the open range and the longhorn steer; but jest how and where he passed in his checks, I don’t suppose anybody will ever find out for certain. A lot of the fellers that knowed him are dead, and a lot of ’em has bad memories—a lot of the old-timers has bad memories—and some of ’em are sech damn liars that you can’t go by what they say.”
“You’ve seen Pecos Bill, haven’t you, Joe?” said Lanky.