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Vachell, Horace Annesley, 1861-1955

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

"
"To work out Comet?" said Nal, pricking up his ears.
"Mercy!--" cried Amanda, "I've given it away, an' it's a deathly
secret."
"It's safe enough with me," replied the young man carelessly. None the
less his eyes brightened and he smiled beneath his blonde mustache.
"An', Mandy, don't worry, I wouldn't touch the old gentleman with a
pair o' tongs."
"Well, good night, Nal--no, you mustn't--somebody might see. Only one
then! Let me go, let me go!--Good night, Nal."
She ran swiftly away, holding high her skirts on account of the
sticker grass. Nal watched her retreating figure admiringly.
"A good gait," he murmured critically, "no interferin' an' nothin'
gummy about the pastern!"
He then squatted down, cowboy fashion, upon his hams, and smoothing
carefully a piece of level ground, began to--what he called "figger."
He wrote with a pointed stick and presently broke into a loud laugh.
"A low down trick," he muttered, "to play upon a white man, but Mr.
Bobo ain't a white man, an' mustn't be treated as sech."
He erased his hieroglyphics, and proceeded leisurely to prepare his
simple supper.


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