"
Miss Blake and her companion smiled and nodded, at which Stover,
encouraged beyond measure, elaborated.
"He's had a hist'ry, too. When he reaches man's real-estate the
Injun agent ropes, throws, and hog-ties him, then sends him East
to be cultivated. He spends four years kickin' a football--"
Speed interrupted, with an exclamation of genuine interest.
"Oh, it's true as gospel," the foreman averred. "When he goes
lame in his off leg they ship him back, and in spite of them
handicaps he has become one rustlin' savage at a round-up."
"What college did you attend?" inquired Speed, politely. The
question fell upon unresponsive ears. Cloudy did not stir nor
alter the direction of his sombre glance.
"He don' talk none," Stover explained. "Conversation, which I
esteem as a gift deevine, is a lost art with him. I reckon he
don't average a word a week. What language he did know he has
forgot, and what he ain't forgot he distrusts."
Turning to the near-sighted man who had been staring at the
college youth meanwhile, the spokesman took a deep breath, and
said, simply yet proudly, as if describing the _piece de
resistance_ of this exhibition:
"The four-eyed gent is Willie, plain Willie, a born range-rider,
_and the best hip shot this side of the Santa Fe trail!_"
Speed beheld an undersized man of indeterminate age, hollow-
chested, thin-faced, gravely benignant.
Pages:
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56