The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1902-04-08
The Trouble s
on the Toro1ito.
BY FRANCIS LYNDE.
Copyright 1855, by Francis Lynde)
CHAPTER Nv.

CHAPTER w.
RECONNOITERINGS
wore out the first day of Mac
pherson's absence sitting in the
shade of the ranch house, and NOV
ing only as the sun compelled. There
was healing in the thin, crisp air, and
went to bed at nightfall to SLEEP
as l had not slept for months. On
the second day I ate like famished
wolf, and the siren hope began to
Groom the song so familiar to the
ears of the consumptive. Once more
made the slow circuit of the ranch
house, hitching my chair in opposi-
ton to the sun; and the foothills
across the valley beckoned me. In the
heel of the afternoon, Andy came out
TO peel the potatoes for supper, and
inquired the distance to the beck
oning hills.
mile and half, r maybe two"
us there horse in the corral that
:. sick man might ride?"
Andy took time to consider. 81
dunno,' said he. "There's old Blue
nose-he's wind-busted; want to try
him?''
81 eyes; if you can spare the time to
saddle him for me-
In five minutes the bronco was at
the door and the kindly desperate
.aeaved me bodily into the saddle
Reckon you can stick on?" said he.
81 guess SO. Does he buck?"
S'They all do, if you give 'em time
to study about it. Give him his head
and run him a mile r so, if you can
stan it. That'll take the funny-busi-
less out O. him"
I did it, and being but a sorry
horseman, must have presented a
: spectacle for gods and men in the
mad gallop across the valley. So far
from showing signs of exhaustion at
the mile-end, the bronco locked his
jaw on the bit, swerved aside from
the slope of the hill which I had
counted upon as speed-reducer, and
was half way to the head of the val
ley before / could get weight enough
on the bridle-reins to pull him down.
When ne realized that I desired to
stop, he promptly shot me over his
head into a patch of sage-grass and
went his way without me. Where
upon followed series of maneuvers
looking to repossession, and at the
end of it the sun had gone down on
a luckless caballero four miles from
camp, too weary to walk, and unable
to recapture his mount.
I flung myself down under the lee
of huge bowlder and wondered if
the bronco would be considerate
enough to send some one after me by
going back to the ranch riderless. It
seemed doubtful. His final 1isap-
pearance had been over the hills to
the northward. Into the midst of the
-chance-woighing came the beat OF
hoofs on the crest above me, and
presently saw the figure of horse.
man silhouetted against the sky on
the hilltop. 1t was Kilgore; and
while | looked he came down the
hill at q jog-trot. Fifty feet from
my bowlder the pony stumbled, and
horse and man came down together
Filgore rose cursing, and kicked the
bronco to it's feet.
Blame your Urinary hide! Cayn't
you lif' them Their feet o. your'n
when you see dog-hole? Now then,
whats the matter with you?"
The horse jerked its head free and
limped few PAGES up the hill, stop
ping presently with it's muzzle to the
ground, pointing as trained bird
dog might. The range-rider stopped
to pull up freshly driven stake and
read the marking thereon.
'N-16-2'; that's some O. their
blame ingineerin' lingo, 1 reckon.
I'd like to git my lariat round the
neck O. the Teller th't's a-stallin' off
this yere rise. I'd show him what
hit feel like to git th'owed."
He flung the stake afar, and leav-
ing the broaco to it's own devices,
sought and found the line of the
ditch, following it and destroying
the engin GERS landmarks for good
half-miie. When he returned he
found me holding the pany, and went
.agape accordingly.
''Well, I'll be ad-burned! Where
did you fall from, IS what I'd like to
know?"
From the pack of a certain III
conditioned beast named 'Bluenose.'
He pitched me off and ran away. I'm
TOO weak tn walk; do you suppose
goa could catch him for me?"