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Grey, Zane, 1872-1939

"Riders of the Purple Sage"

She had no need of words.
"Miss Withersteen, I have to report--loss of the--white herd,"
said Judkins, hoarsely.
"Come, sit down, you look played out," replied Jane,
solicitously. She brought him brandy and food, and while he
partook of refreshments, of which he appeared badly in need, she
asked no questions.
"No one rider--could hev done more--Miss Withersteen," he went
on, presently.
"Judkins, don't be distressed. You've done more than any other
rider. I've long expected to lose the white herd. It's no
surprise. It's in line with other things that are happening. I'm
grateful for your service."
"Miss Withersteen, I knew how you'd take it. But if anythin',
that makes it harder to tell. You see, a feller wants to do so
much fer you, an' I'd got fond of my job. We led the herd a ways
off to the north of the break in the valley. There was a big
level an' pools of water an' tip-top browse. But the cattle was
in a high nervous condition. Wild-- as wild as antelope! You see,
they'd been so scared they never slept. I ain't a-goin' to tell
you of the many tricks that were pulled off out there in the
sage. But there wasn't a day for weeks thet the herd didn't get
started to run. We allus managed to ride 'em close an' drive 'em
back an' keep 'em bunched. Honest, Miss Withersteen, them steers
was thin. They was thin when water and grass was everywhere.


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