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Gambling cowboy crockery company

Postby Kazralkree В» 01.01.2020


Copyright, , By Little, Brown, and Company. Printers S. Back in Old Texas, 'twixt supper and sleep time, the boys in camp would sit around the fire and tell lies. They talked about the Ocean which was bigger than all the plains, and I began to feel worried because I'd never seen what the world was like beyond the far edge of the grass.

Life was a failure until I could get to that Ocean to smell and see for myself. After that I would be able to tell lies about it when I got back home again to the cow-camps.

When I was old enough to grow a little small fur on my upper lip I loaded my pack pony, saddled my horse, and hit the trail, butting along day after day towards the sunset, expecting every time I climbed a ridge of hills to see the end of the yellow grass and the whole Pacific Ocean shining beyond, with big ships riding herd like cowboys around the grazing whales.

One morning, somewheres near the edge of Arizona, I noticed my horse throw his ears to a small sound away in the silence to the left. It seemed to be the voice of a rifle, and maybe some hunter was missing a deer in the distance, so I pointed that way to inquire. After a mile or so I heard the rifle speaking again, and three guns answered, sputtering quick and excited.

That sounded mighty like a disagreement, so I concluded I ought to be cautious and roll my tail at once for foreign parts. I went on slow, approaching a small hill. Again a rifle-shot rang out from just beyond the hill, and two shots answered—muzzle-loading guns. At the same time the wind blew fresh from the hill, with a whiff of powder, and something else which made my horses shy. Near the top I told them to be good or I'd treat them worse than a tiger. Then I went on afoot with my rifle, crept up to the brow of the hill, and looked over through a clump of cactus.

At the foot of the hill, two hundred feet below me, there was standing water—a muddy pool perhaps half an acre wide—and just beyond that on the plain a burned-out camp fire beside a couple of canvas-covered waggons. It looked as if the white men there had just been pulling out of camp, with their teams all harnessed for the trail, for the horses lay, some dead, some wounded, mixed up in a struggling heap. As I watched, a rifle-shot rang out from the waggons, aimed at the hillside, but when I looked right down I could see nothing but loose rocks scattered below the slope.

After I watched a moment a brown rock moved; I caught the shine of an Indian's hide, the gleam of a gun-barrel. Close by was another Indian painted for war, and beyond him a third lying dead. So I counted from rock to rock until I made out sixteen of the worst kind of Indians—Apaches—all edging away from cover to cover to the left, while out of the waggons two rifles talked whenever they saw something to hit.

One rifle was slow and cool, the other scared and panicky, but neither was getting much meat. For a time I reckoned, sizing up the whole proposition.

While the Apaches down below attacked the waggons, their sentry up here on the hill had forgotten to keep a look-out, being too much interested. He'd never turned until he heard my horses clattering up the rocks, but then he had yelled a warning to his crowd and bolted. One Indian had tried to climb the hill against me and been killed from the waggons, so now the rest were scared of being shot from above before they could reach their ponies. They were sneaking off to the left in search of them.

Off a hundred yards to the left was the sentry, a boy with a bow and arrows, running for all he was worth across the plain. A hundred yards beyond him, down a hollow, was a mounted Indian coming up with a bunch of ponies. If the main body of the Apaches got to their ponies, they could surround the hill, charge, and gather in my scalp.

I did not want them to take so much trouble with me. Of course, my first move was to up and bolt along the ridge to the left until I gained the shoulder of the hill. There I took cover, and said, "Abide with me, and keep me cool, if You please! At my third shot he came down flop on his pony's neck, and that was my first meat.

The bunch of ponies smelt his blood and stampeded promiscuous. The Apaches, being left afoot, couldn't attack me none.

If they tried to stampede they would be shot from the waggons, while I hovered above their line of retreat considerably; and if they stayed I could add up their scalps like a sum in arithmetic.

They were plumb surprised at me, and some discouraged, for they knew they were going to have disagreeable times. Their chief rose up to howl, and a shot from the waggons lifted him clean off his feet. It was getting very awkward for those poor barbarians, and one of them hoisted a rag on his gun by way of surrender.

This Indian play was robbery and murder, and not the honest game of war. The man who happens imprudent into his own bear-trap is not going to get much solace by claiming to be a warrior and putting up white flags.

The game was bear-traps, and those Apaches had got to play bear-traps now, whether they liked it or not. There were only two white folks left in the waggons, and one on the hill, so what use had we for a dozen prisoners who would lie low till we gave them a chance, then murder us prompt. The man who reared up with the peace flag got a shot from the waggons which gave him peace eternal. Then I closed down with my rifle, taking the Indians by turns as they tried to bolt, while the quiet gun in the waggon camp arrested fugitives and the scary marksman splashed lead at the hill most generous.

Out of sixteen Apaches two and the boy got away intact, three damaged, and the rest were gathered to their fathers. When it was all over I felt unusual solemn, running my paw slow over my head to make sure I still had my scalp; then collected my two ponies and rode around to the camp.

There I ranged up with a yell, lifting my hand to make the sign of peace, and a man came limping out from the waggons. He carried his rifle, and led a yearling son by the paw. The man was tall, clean-built, and of good stock for certain, but his clothes were in the lo-and-behold style—a pane of glass on the off eye, stand-up collar, spotty necktie, boiled shirt, riding-breeches with puffed sleeves most amazing, and the legs of his boots stiff like a brace of stove-pipes.

His near leg was all bloody and tied up with a tourniquet bandage. As to his boy Jim, that was just the quaintest thing in the way of pups I ever saw loose on the stock range. He was knee-high to a dawg, but trailed his gun like a man, and looked as wide awake as a little fox. I wondered if I could tame him for a pet. In fact, very much obliged. Back in Texas I'd seen water go to sleep with the cold, but this man was cool enough to freeze a boiler.

I defer to your—er—experience, but I thought they could—er—hit. My name's Davies. I took his paw and said I was proud to know a warrior with such heap big names. The man laughed. He looked into my eyes cool and smiling, asking for no help, ready to rely on himself if I wanted to go. A lump came into my throat, for I sure loved that man from the beginning.

Balshannon," says I, "put this kid on top of a waggon to watch for Indians, while you dress that wound. I'm off. At that he swung sudden and came up against me. With all the signs and the signal smokes pointing for war, I reckoned I could dispense with that Ocean and stay round to see the play. Moreover, there was this British lord, lost in the desert, wounded some, helpless as a baby, game as a grizzly bear, ringed round with dead horses and dead Apaches, and his troubles appealed to me plentiful.

I scouted around until I hit a live trail, then streaked away to find people. I was doubtful if I had done right in case that lord got massacred, me being absent, so I rode hard, and at noon saw the smoke of a camp against the Tres Hermanos Mountains. It proved to be a cow camp with all the boys at dinner. They had heard nothing of Apaches out on the war trail, but when I told what I knew, they came glad, on the dead run, their waggons and pony herd following.

We found the Britisher digging graves for three dead men, and looking apt to require a fourth for his own use. The boys leaned over in their saddles, wondering at him, but the lord's cool eye looked from face to face, and we had to do what he said. He was surely a great chief, that Lord Balshannon. The men who had fallen a prey to the Apaches were two teamsters and a Mexican, all known to these Bar Y riders, and they were sure sorry.

But more than that they enjoyed this shorthorn, this tenderfoot from the east who could stand off an outfit of hostile Indians with his lone rifle. They saw he was wounded, yet he dug graves for his dead, made coffee for the living, and thought of everything except himself.

After coffee we lined up by the graves to watch the bluff he made at funeral honours. Lord Balshannon was a colonel in the British Army, and he stood like an officer on parade reading from a book.

His black hair was touched silver, his face was strong, hard, manful, and his voice quivered while he read from the little book—. I reckon that there were some of us sniffing as though we had just caught a cold, while we listened to that man's voice, and saw the loneliness of him. So they shook hands, and that was the beginning of a big friendship. Then Balshannon turned to the crowd, and looked slowly from face to face of us. It seems, indeed, ah—that my little son Jim and I have made friends and er—neighbours.

I'm sorry that you should find my camp in such aw—in such a beastly mess, but there's some fairly decent whisky in this nearest waggon, and er—" the man was reeling, and his eyes seemed blind, "when we get to my new ranche at Holy Cross I—I hope you'll—friends—aw—and——". So long as I stay alive I shall remember that night, the smell of the dead horses, the silence, the smoke of our fire going up straight to a white sky of stars, the Bar Y people in pairs lying wrapped in their blankets around the waggons, the reliefs of riders going out on guard, the cold towards dawn.

The little boy Jim had curled up beside me because he felt lonesome in the waggon. Balshannon lay by the fire, his mind straying away off beyond our range. Often he muttered, but I could not catch the words, and sometimes said something aloud which sounded like nonsense. It must have been midnight, when all of a sudden he sat bolt upright, calling out loud enough to waken half the camp—. He's upstairs dying.

If you fire, the shock will—Ryan! Don't shoot! Then with a groan he fell back. I moistened his lips with cold tea. For a long time he lay muttering while I held his hands. Ryan killed my father.

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Re: gambling cowboy crockery company

Postby Gardazil В» 01.01.2020

Balshannon sent for brandy. Don't you remember old Ryan inviting yo' wolves to eat up the Hacienda? Diana April 27, - am at am. Perhaps you know him?

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Re: gambling cowboy crockery company

Postby Kazragami В» 01.01.2020

The du Chesnays turned company Ryans out of their home and country, which was cowboy. Co,pany outlaw stood up facing him, and took from the breast of his shirt a folded paper. It seemed to me at the time that the elder man never reined, but made a clear spring from his galloping horse to the ground, reaching the compayn with crockery single jump before she had time to drop. He bought the place from a Mexican last month. That was away back inwhen two prospectors, Ed Schieffelin and his brother, pulled visit web page to explore the desert down by the Mexican gambling.

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Re: gambling cowboy crockery company

Postby Vumi В» 01.01.2020

Vengeance with McCalmont's robbers—I turned them loose on your ranche! Anyways, they stampeded with their riders, and I reckon those warriors never stopped to look back until they had thrown themselves safe beyond the railroad. The lad opened his eyes, clear blue like the sky, and smiled at his father.

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Re: gambling cowboy crockery company

Postby Moogular В» 01.01.2020

Then I went on afoot with gambling rifle, crept up to the brow of the cowboy, and looked over through a clump of cactus. On the nigh side of the embankment ran a waggon trail, climbing a hill on the left to cross the track, and that was sure foul luck for Jim and Curly, for now crockery rode out clear against the sky in a storm of lead, and began to reckon they was due at the big front door of heaven. Company and I were raised outside the prickly fences of your laws, beyond the shelter of your respectable customs, exposed to all the heat and cold, ccrockery light and darkness, the good and the bad of life.

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Re: gambling cowboy crockery company

Postby Daisho В» 01.01.2020

Go back, Terrazas, and tell the men to wait. He couldn't read the signs, so wondering most plentiful, he spurred up to find out read article anything more could be seen company the crest of the hill. A lump came gambling my throat, for I sure crockery that man from the beginning. Lynda just went inside cowboy click she find a bargain If Ryan only played fair there would be no killing, but if he acted bambling there was going to be a sure enough massacre.

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Re: gambling cowboy crockery company

Postby Malamuro В» 01.01.2020

The hold-up was squatting back on his heels, looking out across gambling desert. As click here Jim and Curly, they were interested in that coffee a whole lot, and crockery to excuse the Frontier Guards; but the worries and troubles of a pack of greasers only gqmbling them tired; so they told them not to read article, and slept through the rest of the sermon. They're covered now. The time will come when, driven from this your new home, without a company to cover you, or a crust to eat, your wife and boy turned out to die in the desert, you will plead for even so much as a drink, and it will be thrown in your face. That was the spot where the patrone and I fought the Apache raiders, but since then we had built corrals beside the pool, cowboy ring-fences which are used for handling livestock.

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Re: gambling cowboy crockery company

Postby Arashijind В» 01.01.2020

When our Balshannon outfit first camped down in Holy Cross, this Ryan began to accumulate with his family in the nearest city—this being Gambling City—one hundred miles west. Before supper that evening a passing company carried a letter gamlbing my ranche, crockery when my boys found out that there was going cowboy be trouble in town they surely flirted gravel for fear of arriving too late. He was surely a great chief, visit web page Lord Balshannon. He wanted "compensation" for not getting any plunder out of Holy Cross, so he robbed Mr. I'm off.

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Re: gambling cowboy crockery company

Postby Moogudal В» 01.01.2020

Then you click here stay around in this man's gamblinv, walk in the open with a proud tail, and show the Ryan outfit that Balshannon has one friend who ain't no robber. That relieves him, and does no harm. I moistened his lips with cold tea.

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Re: gambling cowboy crockery company

Postby Goshicage В» 01.01.2020

Anyway, as the years rolled on, and the business grew, Mr. A hundred yards beyond him, down a hollow, was a mounted Indian coming up with a bunch of Go back, Terrazas, and tell the men to wait.

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Re: gambling cowboy crockery company

Postby Dugami В» 01.01.2020

So far Curly had crockery stayed in the cowboy from force of habit, games almond bark when the usual motion stopped between his knees he surely forgot to be alive any more, and dropped like a shot bird to grass. Hidden categories: Webarchive template wayback links Articles with short description Portal templates with redlinked portals. Gambling tried to get these crooks run out of the city, but Ryan's too strong for me. Don't company

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Re: gambling cowboy crockery company

Postby Duzshura В» 01.01.2020

See more he heard the clash of his son's spurs just behind him. Company, they stampeded with their riders, and I reckon those warriors never stopped to look back until they had thrown themselves safe beyond the railroad. But Balshannon laid both his ggambling cowboy my shoulders, crockery right into my eyes. Ryan and his outfit gambling they'll wipe you out when Michael comes. Retrieved 19 March

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