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Vachell, Horace Annesley, 1861-1955

"Bunch Grass A Chronicle of Life on a Cattle Ranch"

As soon as we happened to be alone, I whispered to my
brother: "I say, what if the old man is playing hare and hound with
us?"
"Pooh!" said Ajax. "He's keen as mustard to collar this thief--the
keener, possibly, since he discovered that the fellow is a tenderfoot.
I've sized him up about right. He wants to establish a record. It's
like this teetotal business of his. The people here refuse to believe
evil of a man who drinks water, goes to church, and catches horse-
thieves. I'll add one word more. To give the old fraud his due, he
really holds in abhorrence any crime that might land him in the State
penitentiary. Hullo! There's a faint reek out yonder. I'll take a
squint through my glasses."
We called a halt. We were now on the alkaline plains beyond the San
Emigdio mountains. Riding all through the night, we had changed horses
at a ranch where we were known. Ajax stared through his binoculars.
"What we're after," said he quietly, "is in sight."
He handed his glasses to me. I could barely make out a horseman,
herding along two animals. The plains were blazing with heat. In the
distance a soft blue haze obscured the horizon; faintly outlined
against this were three spirals of what seemed to be white smoke:
three moving pillars of alkaline dust.


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