He was still sputtering "By
damn," when Clay bumped him up against a hitching-post, garroted him,
and swung the hose around the post in such a way as to encircle the
feet of the man.
The cowpuncher drew the hose tight, slipped the nozzle through the iron
ring, and caught the flapping arms of the man to his body. With the
deft skill of a trained roper Clay swung the rubber pipe round the body
of the man again and again, drawing it close to the post and knotting
it securely behind. The Swede struggled, but his furious rage availed
him nothing. He was in the hands of the champion roper of Graham
County, a man who had hogtied a wild hill steer in thirty-three seconds
by the watch.
It took longer than this to rope up the husky janitor with a squirming
hose, but when Clay stepped back to inspect his job he knew he was
looking at one that had been done thoroughly.
"I keel you, by damn, ef you don't turn me loose!" roared the big man
in a rage.
The range-rider grinned gayly at him. He was having the time of his
young life. He did not even regret his fifty-five-dollar suit.
Already he could see that Arizona had nothing on New York when it came
to getting action for your money.
"Life's just loaded to the hocks with disappointment, Olie," he
explained, and his voice was full of genial sympathy. "I'll bet a
dollar Mex you'd sure like to beat me on the haid with a two by four.
But I don't reckon you'll ever get that fond wish gratified.
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