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قراءة كتاب Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher

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‏اللغة: English
Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher

Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
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cover


And you can chalk down forty votes fer Miss Macie Sewell” (See p. 64)


ALEC LLOYD
COWPUNCHER


Originally published under the title of

CUPID: THE COWPUNCH


BY
ELEANOR GATES

AUTHOR OF
THE POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL,
THE PLOW WOMAN, Etc.

ILLUSTRATIONS BY
ALLEN TRUE

emblem

NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS


Copyright, 1907, by The McClure Company
Published, November, 1907

Copyright, 1905, 1906, 1907 by The Curtis Publishing Company
Copyright, 1906, 1907, by International Magazine Company


CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Rose Andrews’s Hand and Doctor Bugs’s Gasoline Bronc 3
II. A Thirst-Parlour Mix-Up Gives Me a New Deal 31
III. The Prettiest Gal and the Homeliest Man 52
IV. Concernin’ the Sheriff and Another Little Widda 85
V. Things Git Started Wrong 132
VI. What a Lunger Done 157
VII. The Boys Put They Foot in It 169
VIII. Another Scheme, and How It Panned Out 195
IX. A Round-Up in Central Park 234
X. Macie and the Op’ra Game 260
XI. A Boom That Busted 276
XII. And a Boom at Briggs 300

CHAPTER ONE
ROSE ANDREWS’S HAND AND DOCTOR BUGS’S GASOLINE BRONC

“Sweet is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides

On its fair, windin’ way to the sea;

And dearer by f-a-a-ar––

“Now, look a-here, Alec Lloyd,” broke in Hairoil Johnson, throwin’ up one hand like as if to defend hisself, and givin’ me a kinda scairt look, “you shut you’ bazoo right this minute–and git! Whenever you begin singin’ that song, I know you’re a-figgerin’ on how to marry somebody off to somebody else. And I just won’t have you around!

We was a-settin’ t’gether on the track side of the deepot platform at Briggs City, him a-holdin’ down one end of a truck, and me the other. The mesquite lay in front of us, and it was all a sorta greenish brown account of the pretty fair rain we’d been havin’. They’s miles of it, y’ savvy, runnin’ so far out towards the west line of Oklahomaw that it plumb slices the sky. Through it, north and south, the telegraph poles go straddlin’–in the direction of Kansas City on the right hand, and off past Rogers’s Butte to Albuquerque on the left. Behind us was little ole Briggs, with its one street of square-front buildin’s facin’ the railroad, and a scatterin’ of shacks and dugouts and corrals and tin-can piles in behind.

Little ole Briggs! Sometimes, you bet you’ life, I been pretty down on my luck in Briggs, and sometimes I been turrible happy; also, I been just so-so. But, no matter how things pan out, darned if I cain’t allus say truthful that she just about suits me–that ornery, little, jerkwater town!

The particular day I’m a-speakin’ of was a jo-dandy–just cool enough to make you want t’ keep you’ back aimed right up at the sun, and without no more breeze than ’d help along a butterfly. Then, the air was all nice and perfumey, like them advertisin’ picture cards you git at a drugstore. So, bein’ as I was enjoyin’ myself, and a-studyin’ out somethin’ as I hummed that was mighty important, why, I didn’t want t’ mosey, no, ma’am.

But Hairoil was mad. I knowed it fer the reason that he’d called me Alec ’stead of Cupid. Y’ see, all the boys call me Cupid. And I ain’t ashamed of it, neither. Somebody’s got t’ help out when it’s a case of two lovin’ souls that’s bein’ kept apart.

“Now, pardner,” I answers him, as coaxin’ as I could, “don’t you go holler ’fore you’re hit. It happens that I ain’t a-figgerin’ on no hitch-up plans fer you.

Hairoil, he stood up–quick, so that I come nigh fallin’ offen my end of the truck. “But you are fer some other pore cuss,” he says.

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