The Washington herald., 1920-09-14
THE HIGHER ABDICATON :.

morrow for some Quitting raci-
enda. But to the drLNS' in:C'I-
gence of Curly they represented
only warmth and softness ana
protection against the cold hu-
midity of the night. After sew
eral unluCky efforts, at last he
conquered gravity so far as IT,
climb over d wheel and pitch for
ward upon the best and warmest
bed he had fallen upon in many a
day Then he became instinc-
lively a burrowing animal. and
dug his way like a prairie-dog
down among the sacks and blank
cts, hiding himself from the cid
air as snug and safe as a bear in
his den. For three nights sleep
had visited Curly only in broken
and shivering doses. So now,
when Morpheus condescended TO
pay him a call, Curly got such &
strangle hold on the mytho.ogi-
cal old gentleman that IL was a
wonder that anyone else m the
whole world got a wink of sleep
that night.
Six COwpunchers of the Cibolo
Ranch were waiting around the
door of the ranch sore. Their
ponies cropped grass near by, tied
in the Texas fashion-which is
not tied at all Their bride
reins had been dropped to the
earth. which is a more effCctua'
way of securing thsnl (scch Is
the power of habit all ;inaglua.
tiOn) than you could devise out
Of the half-inch rope and a live
oak tree.
These guardians of the COW
lounged about, each with a brown
cigarette paper in his hand, and
gently but increasingly cursed
Sam Revell, the storekeepe,
Sam stood in the door, swapping
the red elastic bands "n Is INK
madras shirtsIeeves and looking
down affectionately at the on,v
pair Of tan shoes witnIa a forty
mile radius. His offense had
been serious. and he was divided
between humble apology and ad-
miration for the beauty of his
footwear. He had allowed the
ranch stock of smoking" to be-
come exhausted.
I thought sure there was an
other case of it under the coun-
ter, boys" he explained. But it
happened to be Catterdges."
You've sure got a case of hap
pendecitis," said Poky Rodgers,
fence rider of the Largo Verde
pOtrero. Somebody ought to
happen to give you a knock on
the head with the butt end of
qUirt. I've rode in nine miles for
some tobacco; and it don't appear
natural and seemly that you
ought to be allowed to live"
The boys was smokin' cut
plug and dried mesquite Ieaves
mixed when I left" sighed Mus
tang Taylor. horse wrangler, of
the Three Elm camp. They'll
be lookin' for me by nine. They'll
be settin' up with their papers
ready to roll a Whit of the real
thing before bed time. And I've
got to tell 'em that this pink
eyed, sheep-headed, sulphur
footed, shirt-waisted son of a cal
leo broncho, Sam Revell, hasn
got no tobacco on hand"
Gregorio Falcon, Mexican va
quero and best thrower of the
rope on the Cibolo. pushed
heavy, silver embroidered straw
sombrerO back upon his thicket
of jet black curls, and scraped
the bottoms of his pockets for a
few crumbs of the precious weed.
'Ah, Don Samuel" he said, re-
proachfully, but with his touch of
Castilian manner, 'escuse. me.
Dthey say dthe jackrabbeet and
dthe most leetle sesos-how you
call dthem?-brain-es? All dom
believe dthat, Don Samuel-escuse
me. All dthing people wat don
keep esmOkin' tobacco, dthey-|
bot you weel escuse me, Don
Samuel"
Now. what's the use of chew
in the rag, boys" said the un-
troubled Sam. stopping over to
rub the toes of his shoes with a
"Ranse took the order for some
more smokin' to San Antoine with
him Tuesday. Pancho rode
Ranse's horse back himse'r.
There wasn't much of n load
just some woolsacks and blankets
and nails and canned peaches and
a few things We was out of. I
look for Ranse to roll in today
sure. He's an early starter and
hell-to-split driver, and he
ought to be here not far from
sundown."
What plugs is he drivin'?"
asked Mustang Taylor, with a
smack of hope in fis tones.
The blackboard greys," said
Sam.
"Ill wait a spell, then" said
the wrangler. Them plugs eat
up trail like a road runner
swallowin' a whip snake. And
you may bust me open a can of
green-gage plums, Sam, while I'm