Regardless of the
heat Skinny had ridden hard and his horse was a lather of sweat. A
number of cowboys lounged, indolently, in the shade of the bunk-house,
smoking cigarettes and contentedly enjoying the hour of rest after the
noon-day dinner. Another, lean-built, slender, boyish in appearance and
with strangely black, inscrutable eyes, stepped from around the corner
of the house as Skinny jerked Old Pie Face to a standstill.
"Where's Old Heck?" Skinny asked excitedly. "I brought the mail--here,
take it to him!"
The other, known on the Kiowa and the range of western Texas and Mexico
only as "the Ramblin' Kid," strolled leisurely out through the sagging,
weight-swung gate and up to the panting horse from which Skinny had not
yet dismounted.
"Asleep, I reckon," he replied in a voice peculiarly low and deliberate,
"--what's your spontaneousness about? You act like a special d'livery or
somethin'."
"Old Heck's got a letter," Skinny said, jerkily; "maybe's it's bad news
an' he ought to have it quick," as the Ramblin' Kid reached for a yellow
envelope held in the outstretched hand.
At that instant Old Heck, owner and boss of the Quarter Circle KT cow
outfit, stepped from the shadow of the open ranch-house door.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25