"
"Well--with Jack."
So they reached a tumbled ranch house squeezed between two hills so
that it was sheltered from the storms of the winter but held all the
heat of the summer.
Once it had been a goodly building, the home of some cattle king. But
bad times had come. A bullet in a saloon brawl put an end to the
cattle king, and now his home was a wreck of its former glory. The
northern wing shelved down to the ground as if the building were
kneeling to the power of the wind, and the southern portion of the
house, though still erect, seemed tottering and rotten throughout and
holding together until at a final blow the whole structure would
crumple at once.
To the stables, hardly less ruinous than the big house, Pierre and
Wilbur took their horses, and a series of whinnies greeted them from
the stalls. To look down that line of magnificent heads raised above
the partitions of the stalls was like glancing into the stud of some
crowned head who made hunting and racing his chief end in life, for
these were animals worthy of the sport of kings.
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