But it seemed as if
a chuckle came from above; it was only some sound in the gasoline lamp,
a big fixture which hung suspended by a slender chain from the centre of
the ceiling and immediately above the table.
"Civilizin' cowpunchers," went on Lawlor, tilting back in his chair and
bracing his feet against the edge of the table, "civilizin' cowpunchers
is worse'n breakin' mustangs. They's some that say it can't be done.
But look at this crew. Do they look like rough uns?"
A stir had passed among the cowpunchers and solemn stares of hate
transfixed Lawlor, but he went on: "I'm askin' you, do these look
rough?"
"I should say," answered Bard courteously, "that you have a pretty
experienced lot of cattle-men."
"Experienced? Well, they'll pass. They've had experience with bar whisky
and talkin' to their cards at poker, but aside from bein' pretty much
drunks and crookin' the cards, they ain't anything uncommon. But when I
got 'em they was wild, they was. Why, if I'd talked like this in front
of 'em they'd of been guns pulled. But look at 'em now. I ask you: Look
at 'em now! Ain't they tame? They hear me call 'em what they are, but
they don't even bat an eye.
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