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Mulford, Clarence Edward, 1883-1956

"Hopalong Cassidy's Rustler Round-Up"


"We're talkin' about Buffalo, where everybody has to hang up their
guns," replied Buck. "An' there's th' law-"
"To blazes with th' law!" whooped Hopalong in Red's ear as he
unfastened the cinch of Red's saddle and at the same time stabbing
that unfortunate's mount with his spurs, thereby causing a hasty
separation of the two. When Red had picked himself up and things had
quieted down again the subject was changed, and several hours later
they rode into Muddy Wells, a town with a little more excuse for its
existence than Buckskin. The wells were in an arid valley west of
Guadaloupe Pass, and were not only muddy but more or less alkaline.

CHAPTER. X
Peace Hath its Victories

As they neared the central group of buildings they heard a hilarious
and assertive song which sprang from the door and windows of the main
saloon. It was in jig time, rollicking and boisterous, but the words
had evidently been improvised for the occasion, as they clashed
immediately with those which sprang to the minds of the outfit,
although they could not be clearly distinguished. As they approached
nearer and finally dismounted, however, the words became recognizable
and the visitors were at once placed in harmony with the air of jovial
recklessness by the roaring of the verses and the stamping of the
time.
Oh we're red-hot cow-punchers playin' on our luck,
An' there ain't a proposition that we won't buck:
From sunrise to sunset we've ridden on the range,
But now we're oft for a howlin' change.


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