He grinned to himself behind his bandana, which was pulled up over his face leaving only a narrow slit between it and his turned down Stetson for him to see out of. "Liars, the whole danged lot of them," he announced to the back of the bay’s head. "If I had my way I would take every one of those darned Eastern dime novelists and make them walk behind a herd like this, instead of spreading lies about the romance of riding the range. All you get is dust, dry eyes, and wagonloads of dung." And as he thought about how thirsty he was his mind jumped ahead with joyous anticipation to the delight of savoring the first cup of Arbuckle’s coffee that Cookie would have ready for them when they eventually bedded the herd down for the night. It was after mid-afternoon and as usual at this time Cookie had gone on ahead of the herd to find a suitable spot to have their meal ready when bed-down time came. They were on the third day out from the ranch and had made a steady fifteen miles per day along the trail.
What do You think about Stampede At Rattlesnake Pass?
