The Flockmaster of Poison Creek by George W Ogden

Author:George W Ogden [Ogden, George W]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-02-28T00:57:09.656000+00:00

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CHAPTER XVI

REID BEGINS HIS PLAY

Dad Frazer came back after five days, diminished in facial outline on account of having submitted his stubble beard to the barber at Four Corners. In reverse of all speculation on Mackenzie's part, this operation did not improve the old man's appearance. Dad's face was one of the kind that are built to carry a beard; without it his weaknesses were too apparent to the appraising eye.

Dad made glowing report of his success with the widow at Four Corners. Preliminaries were smoothed; he had left the widow wearing his ring.

"We'll jump the broomstick in about a month from now," Dad said, full of satisfaction for his business stroke. "I aim to settle down and quit my roamin', John."

"And your marrying, too, I hope, you old rascal!"

"Yes, this one will be my last, I reckon. I don't mind, though; I've had doin's enough with women in my day."

"Is she a good looker, Dad?"

"Well, I've seen purtier ones and I've seen uglier ones, John. No, she ain't what you might call stylish, I guess, but she's all right for me. She's a little off in one leg, but not enough to hurt."

"That's a slight blemish in a lady with money in the bank, Dad."

"I look at it that way, on the sensible side. Good looks is all right in a woman, but that ain't all a man needs to make him easy in his mind. Well, she did lose the sight of her left eye when she was a girl, but she can see a dollar with the other one further than I can see a wagon wheel."

"No gentleman would stop at the small trifle of an eye. What else, Dad?"

"Nothing else, only she's carryin' a little more meat right now than a woman likes to pack around in hot weather. I don't mind that; you know, I like mine fat; you can't get 'em too fat for me."

"I've heard you say so. How much does she weigh?"

"Well, I guess close to three hundred, John. If she was taller, it wouldn't show so much on her--she can walk under my arm. But it's surprisin' how that woman can git around after them sheep!"

Dad added this hopefully, as if bound to append some redeeming trait to all her physical defects.

"How many does she own?"

"About four thousand. Not much of a band, but a lot more than I ever could lay claim to. She's got a twelve-thousand acre ranch, owns every foot of it, more than half of it under fence. What do you think of that? Under fence! Runs them sheep right inside of that bull-wire fence, John, where no wolf can't git at 'em. There ain't no bears down in that part of the country. Safe? Safer'n money in the bank, and no expense of hirin' a man to run 'em."

"It looks like you've landed on a feather bed, Dad."

"Ain't I? What does a man care about a little hobble, or one eye, or a little

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