Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1906-08-19
By NEWTON A. FUESSLE

x" 7HEN Crumpton swung into D.
~ the saddle and urged his -
~ sorre cowp pony into the
winding trail that
dered across fifty miles of
sun-baked alka1i desert to Queens, every
cow-puncher on Clay Butte ranch knew
that something far off somewhere in Gods
country had happened. They knew from
the way he used his rattlesnake quirt, from
the way he dug his spurs into the TANKS
of his mount, from the way the boss swore
at the Chnaman who was washing dishes
in the mess shanty.
country was going away, perhaps never to
return-that certain. He gave them
so long, fellowsi' after he had gr1pped the n
hand of the boss. CruTnpton was man OF
few words These meant a great deal ~,
The rider, swinging easily with the stride q
of the pony, seemed at home, with the W~N
leather fringe of his Mexican trousers, the
sombrero trimmed with green the red OF a
knotted handkerchief fringing the brown of
his neck. He spare and sinewy, hard
as nail, wild of heart; drinking and gam
bling just as he rode-long and hard. His
eye afre with the look of the wilder.
ness, and in it no fear of anything that lived. In
the far foot hills they called him handsome.
AS he rode, the horseman watched the dance of
the sun devils that hemmed him in. jiggng their
tantalzing circles around the Looping horse, and full
of savage menace. The rays of the sun stung horse
and rider like drks; and occasionally he would bare
his head to them. And then great joy would flood
his heart joy mngling with pain, for he was going
away from the foothills, away from the pony that
had been his companion for years ION the plains the
best friends not necessarily human), away from
the wild and free and lonely existence at Clay Butte
ranch
You, Salem he said, talking to the animal II
reckon this1l be last ride together-for spell,
he added little wistfully 1T don't seem right
square for to pike out O here. Kind OF low
down, reckon, for me to duck and leave you here.
The pony whinned, and the rider, bending for
ward, put his hand on the hot neck, and patted the
animal affectionately. Often Crumpton would take
sheet of yellow paper from the pocket OF his shirt
Then he would unfold it and laboriously read the
Scray1 of Tarne Webb AFT Queens
Say, bronze" he commented, gazing refectively
trail that meandered away to civilization and to the
country called Gods" by the cow-punchers-
.'bronc, you old cayuse buster, got a letter day
before yesterday. What do you think O that,
why we're hikin' for Queens, he continued drawing
out lazy oath. Yep, we got to make Queens to-
night; you better step lively. Jarne's got job
for me- Salem. Wants me to help him make things
They carry too much dough, them tenderfeet do.
It's gon to be duty to to it that they loosen
up little. And then when the jig is up it's us to
Canady, an then to Alasky That's long ways
off, Alasky is Was gettin' kind of tired Of it up
there to the ranch. What need is something ex
ctin'-the whizz of lead, he concluded with
laugh.
The pony tossed its head and whinned in reply.
A hundred yards to the right the lean form of
coyote loped up from little valley, and the rider,
watching its wolf-hke swing, drew revolver from
its holster brown lid closed slowly the gray
of eye There was the CLINT of the sun the pol
ished barrel, and sharp report. Immediately, the
greyhound form wrenched itself from the ground,
and then fell limp and dead. The cowboy gave
buzzard wheeled in its flight to listen, while sinister
echoes skirted the hills. The pony understood and
whinnied.
Fixed him, didn't I, Salem?' commented the
of drinking song. Presently he fell into reflection
again and the pony settled into it's patient