“Oh, that’s a lean little yearling that they used to drive north to Wyoming, for Government rations for the poor Indians. Listen——”
“Oh, you’ll be beef for Un-cle Sam’s Injuns,
It’s ‘Beef,—heap Beef!’ we he-ar them cry,
Git along, git along, git along lit-tle dogies,
For you’ll be beef steers by and by,”
sang Big John’s concluding verse, Red Jake chiming in on the chorus,—
“Whoop-ee, de—I—yaho!” etc.
Sunrise over the desert! A magnificent spectacle, a stunning spectacle, a gorgeous, overwhelming, awe-inspiring spectacle! The boys fell head over heels in love with the whole thing, and then as if to give it a touch of adventure, Pepper let out a squeak, with a funny break in it like a boy’s voice changing, and streaked across the sage. After him tore Lee and Bourbon, belly down, legs flying like long broom handles.
“Hi! Hi! Yip—yip!—Coyote!” yelled Red Jake, wheeling his broncho to flash off after the dogs. “Git him, boys!”
Ruler brayed a musical volley of hound notes, taking after the pups in long bounds that closed up on them fast. A gray wolfish streak was doing some fancy steps, twisting and turning through the greasewood bushes. Sid galloped, Scotty galloped; after them thundered Big John and the Colonel. The wind whistled around Sid’s ears as his pinto let out speed.