"Dirk ain't so easy to lick."
Bud immediately wanted to know why it was taken for granted
that he had whipped Dirk, and grandpa chortled again. "Now if
you hadn't of licked Dirk, you wouldn't of got fired," he
retorted, and proceeded to relate a good deal of harmless
gossip which seemed to bear out the statement. Dirk Tracy,
according to grandpa, was the real boss of the Muleshoe, and
Bart was merely a figure-head.
All of this did not matter to Bud, but grandpa was garrulous.
A good deal of information Bud received while the two
attended to the horses and loitered at the corral gate.
Grandpa admired Smoky, and looked him over carefully, with
those caressing smoothings of mane and forelock which betray
the lover of good horseflesh.
"I reckon he's purty fast," he said, peering shrewdly into
Bud's face." The boys has been talking about pulling off some
horse races here next Sunday--we got a good, straight, hard-
packed creek-bed up here a piece that has been cleaned of
rocks fer a mile track, and they're goin' to run a horse er
two. Most generally they do, on Sunday, if work's slack. You
might git in on it, if you're around in these parts." He
pushed his back straight with his palms, turned his head
sidewise and squinted at Smoky through half-closed lids while
he fumbled for cigarette material.
Pages:
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124