The Wrong WomanStewart, Charles D. (Charles David)
General
The Wrong Woman
Stewart, Charles D. (Charles David)
Texas -- Fiction
The present lamb, again deserted by its parent, was completely at sea;
and not having anything to attach itself to, it simply kept on standing
up, which was plenty of exercise for it just now. The man, having
released the ewe, who went back to the flock with an inane _baa_ which
reminded a scattered score of other ewes to do the same, now turned his
attention to the problem of carrying the little stranger. As this
visitation was entirely unlooked-for, he had not brought the lamb-bag
along, so he had to find some other way. His coat, unbuttoned at the
top for the better insertion of his hand, he had been using as a sort
of capacious breast-pocket in which he stowed his lunch and other
incumbrances. One side of it now bulged out with the carcass of a
cotton-tail which he had scared out of the marsh grass, together with
various conveniences which he had brought along from the shack. These
things out of the way there would be room for the lamb to ride; he
therefore spilled everything on the ground and set to work to make an
entirely new arrangement, pausing, however, when he had unbuttoned his
coat (he had left his vest off) to observe the present state of his
white shirt-front, one side of which, in addition to its generally
soiled condition and the darker streak which marked the pathway of his
hand, had now a crimson spot from the head of the cotton-tail. That
side, in comparison with the spotless and polished condition of the
other, presented a contrast as striking as did the new white lamb and
the weather-stained flock. Having hung the rabbit to the canteen
strap, he put the lamb in where it was warm; and now, as he resumed his
ramble with the flock, the little grass orphan (or whatever we may call
an orphan whose parents are both living) bobbed his head up and down at
the powerful chest of his protector, and looked out upon the world with
all the advantages, and none of the disadvantages, of having been born.
This way with the young had previously been adopted by the aforesaid
Mrs. O'Possum, who always carries the children in her pocket; and whom
we may imagine noting the fact in terms of the very highest approval.
It had been his intention that morning to get back to the corral at an
earlier hour than usual; and as the sun was well past meridian he
ordered the dog out to turn the flock, the leaders of which were now
about a quarter of a mile away. The collie, eager for work, skirted
round and brought them all face-about suddenly, barking his threats
along the van, and then closed in some stragglers, according to
instructions received from the distance. The man stayed where he was
till the flock had drifted past him; then he took his place at the rear
again, the dog falling in close behind. He idled along after them,
revolving in his mind his plans for the evening--some boards to be
nailed tight on the storm-shed, and certain repairs on the south side
of the pen.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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