Sacatone Bill suddenly threw back his head and laughed.
"Reminds me f the time I went to Colorado!" he cried.
"He's off!" whispered the Cattleman.
A dead silence fell on the circle. Everybody shifted position
the better to listen to the story of Sacatone Bill.
About ten year ago I got plumb sick of punchin' cows around my
part of the country. She hadn't rained since Noah, and I'd
forgot what water outside a pail or a trough looked like. So I
scouted around inside of me to see what part of the world I'd
jump to, and as I seemed to know as little of Colorado and minin'
as anything else, I made up the pint of bean soup I call my
brains to go there. So I catches me a buyer at Henson and turns
over my pore little bunch of cattle and prepared to fly. The
last day I hauled up about twenty good buckets of water and threw
her up against the cabin. My buyer was settin' his hoss waitin'
for me to get ready. He didn't say nothin' until we'd got down
about ten mile or so.
"Mr. Hicks," says he, hesitatin' like, "I find it a good rule in
this country not to overlook other folks' plays, but I'd take it
mighty kind if you'd explain those actions of yours with the
pails of water.
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