"I ain't dead yet," Eddie made sheepish comment.

"Mebbe you kinda look on me as being a horn toad, Bud." "When you bear in mind that my folks raised that kid, You'll realize that it takes a good deal to stampede mother." Bud swung into the saddle to avoid subjecting his emotions to the cramped, inadequate limitations of speech.

"Let's go, boys.

She's a long trail to take the kinks out of before supper-time." They stood still, making no move to follow.

Bud reined Smoky around so that he faced them, reached laboriously into that mysterious pocket of a cowpuncher's trousers which is always held closed by the belt of his chaps, and which invariably holds in its depths the things he wants in a hurry.