The Last of the Plainsmen 



&quot; We ve tried more n onct. It s a turrible busted 

 up country, them brakes. No man knows it, an the 

 cougars do. Old Tom ranges all the ridges and 

 brakes, even up on the slopes of Buckskin; but he 

 lives down there in them holes, an Lord knows, no 

 dog I ever seen could follow him. We tracked him 

 in the snow, an had dogs after him, but none could 

 stay with him, except two as never cum back. But 

 we ve nothin agin Old Tom like Jeff Clarke, a hoss 

 rustler, who has a string of pintos corraled north of 

 us. Clarke swears he ain t raised a colt in two years.&quot; 



&quot; We ll put that old cougar up a tree,&quot; exclaimed 

 Jones. C)j 



&quot;If you kill him we ll make you all a present of a 

 mustang, an Clarke, he ll give you two each,&quot; replied 

 Stewart. &quot; We d be gettin rid of him cheap.&quot; 



&quot; How many wild horses on the mountain now? &quot; 



&quot; Hard to tell. Two or three thousand, mebbe. 

 There s almost no ketchin them, an 1 they re growin 

 all the time. We ain t had no luck this spring. The 

 bunch in corral we got last year.&quot; 



&quot; Seen anythin of the White Mustang? &quot; inquired 

 Frank. &quot; Ever get a rope near him? &quot; 



&quot; No nearer n we hev fer six years back. He can t 

 be ketched. We seen him an his band of blacks a 

 few days ago, headin fer a water-hole down where 

 Nail Canon runs into Kanab Canon. He s so cunnin 



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