"I don't--a man!" said Chip pointedly. "Run away and play. I'll tell
you what, sonny, I'm not running a kindergarten. Every man I hire has
got man's work to do. Wait till you're grown up; as it is, you'd last
quick on round-up, and that's a fact."
"Oh! it is, eh? Say, did yuh ever hear uh old Eagle Creek Smith, of
the Cross L, or Rowdy Vaughan, or a fellow up on Milk River they call
Pink?"
"I'd tell a man!" Chip turned toward him again. "At least I've heard
of Eagle Creek Smith, and of Pink--bronco-fighter, they say, and a
little devil. Why?"
The immaculate one lifted his panama, ran his fingers through his
curls, and smiled demurely. "Nothing in particular--only, I'm Pink!"
Chip stared frankly, and measured the slender figure from accurately
dented hat-crown to tiny shoe-tips. "Well, yuh sure don't look it," he
said bluntly, at length. "Why that elaborate disguise of
respectability?"
Pink sat him down on an empty beer case in the shade of the saloon and
daintily rolled a cigarette.
"Yuh see, it's like this," he began, in his soft voice. "When the
Cross L moved their stock across the line Rowdy Vaughan had charge uh
the outfit; and, seeing we're pretty good friends, uh course I went
along. I hadn't been over there a month till I had occasion t' thump
the daylights out uh one uh them bone-headed grangers that vitiates the
atmosphere up there; and I put him all to the bad. So a bunch uh them
gaudy buck-policemen rose up and fogged me back across the line; a man
has sure got t' turn the other cheek up there, or languish in _ga_-ol."
Pink brought the last word out as if it did not taste good.
"I hit for the home range, which is Upper Milk River. But it was
cussed lonesome with all the old bunch gone; so I sold my outfit and
quit cow-punching for good. I wonder if the puncher lives that didn't
sell his saddle and bed, and reform at least once in his checkered
career!
"I had a fair-sized roll so I took the home trail back to Minnesota,
and chewed on the fatted calf all last winter and this summer. It
wasn't bad, only the girls run in bunches and are dead anxious to tie
up to some male human. I dubbed around and dodged the loop long as I
could stand it, and then I drifted.
"I kinda got hungry for the feel of a good horse between m' legs once
more. It made me mad to see houses on every decent bed-ground, and
fences so thick yuh couldn't get out and fan the breeze if yuh tried.
I tell yuh straight, old-timer, last month I was home I plumb wore out
mother's clothes-line roping the gate-post. For the Lord's sake, stake
me to a string! and I don't give a damn how rough a one it is!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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