" Once more he turned to the girl.
"When the half-breed comes for you, you go with him. I've got to go on
with the boys, now." Abruptly he left the room, and once more paused
in the hall before passing through the office. "She's game, all right.
An' the way she can look at a fellow out of those eyes of hers---- By
God! Purdy _ought_ to be'n killed!"
CHAPTER IX
THE PILGRIM
A group of saddle-horses stood before the Headquarters saloon, and as
the Texan entered he was vociferously greeted by the twenty cowboys who
crowded the bar.
"Come on, Tex, drink up!"
"Hell'll be a-poppin' down to the wool-warehouse."
"An', time we get there we won't be able to see Sam Moore fer dust."
Curly raised his glass and the cowpunchers joined in uproarious song:
"We'll string him up to a cottonwood limb
An' dig his grave in under him,
We'll tromp down the clods, an' we won't give a damn
'Cause he'll never kill another cow-man,
Ah wi yi yippie i oo-o-!"
Without a break the Texan picked up the refrain, improvising words to
fit the occasion:
"The sheriff's name, it's old Sam Moore,
He's standin' down by the jail-house door
With seventeen knives an' a gatlin' gun,
But you bet your boots we'll make him run
Ah wi yi yippie i o-o-o-!"
With whoops of approbation and a deafening chorus of yowls and
catcalls, the cowpunchers crowded through the door.
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