I was ridin' fer the Lazy Y
outfit, an' fer quite a spell 'fore this tarford fever business the ol'
man use to ride the barb wire along Beaver, reg'lar. Yeh know how
loose ol' Lazy Y is with his change? A dollar don't loom no bigger to
him than the side of Sugar Loaf Butte, an' it slips through his fingers
as easy as a porkypine could back out of a gunnysack. Well, that there
dose of tarford fever that the nester gal died of cost ol' Lazy Y jest
a even thousan' bucks. An' Doc Godkins got it."
The cowpuncher paused and the bartender picked up his glass. "Drink
up," he said, "an' have another. I do'no what yer talkin' about but
it's jest as bad to not have enough red licker in under yer belt when
y' go to make a ride as 'tis to have too much."
"Never yeh mind about the licker. I c'n reg'late my own drinks to suit
me. Mebbe I got more'n a ride a-comin' to me 'fore tonight's over."
The bartender eyed him questioningly: "You usta win 'em all--buckin',
an' ropin', an'----"
"Yes, I usta!" sneered the other. "An' I could now if it wasn't fer
that Texas son of a ----! Fer three years hand runnin' he's drug down
everything he's went into. He c'n out-rope me an' out-ride me, but he
can't out-guess me! An' some day he's goin' to have to out-shoot me.
I'm goin' to win the buckin' contest, an' the ropin', too.
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