The Ramblin' Kid 
 
The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ramblin' Kid, by Earl Wayland 
Bowman This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and 
with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away 
or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included 
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net 
Title: The Ramblin' Kid 
Author: Earl Wayland Bowman 
Release Date: December 3, 2003 [EBook #10374] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE 
RAMBLIN' KID *** 
 
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Dave Morgan and PG Distributed 
Proofreaders 
 
THE RAMBLIN' KID 
BY EARL WAYLAND BOWMAN 
FRONTISPIECE BY W.H.D. KOERNER 
 
1920 
 
CONTENTS 
 
CHAPTER
I A NIGHT LETTER 
II A BLUFF CALLED 
III WHICH ONE'S WHICH 
IV THE UNUSED PLATE 
V A DUEL OF ENDURANCE 
VI YOU'RE A BRUTE 
VII THE GREEDY SANDS 
VIII QUICK WITH A VENGEANCE 
IX OLD HECK'S STRATEGY 
X FIXING FIXERS 
XI A DANCE AND A RIDE 
XII YOU'LL GET YOUR WISH 
XIII THE ELITE AMUSEMENT PARLOR 
XIV THE GRAND PARADE 
XV MOCHA AND JAVA 
XVI THE SWEEPSTAKES 
XVII OLD HECK GOES TO TOWN 
XVIII A SHAME TO WASTE IT 
XIX THE GREEK GETS HIS 
XX MOSTLY SKINNY
XXI A GIRL LIKE YOU 
 
THE RAMBLIN' KID 
 
CHAPTER I 
A NIGHT LETTER 
Sand and gravel slithered and slid under the heels of Old Pie Face as 
Skinny Rawlins whirled the broncho into the open space in front of the 
low-built, sprawling, adobe ranch house of the Quarter Circle KT and 
reined the pinto to a sudden stop. Skinny had been to Eagle Butte and 
with other things brought back the mail. It was hot, late June, the time 
between cutting the first crop of alfalfa and gathering, from the open 
range, the beef steers ready for the summer market. Regardless of the 
heat Skinny had ridden hard and his horse was a lather of sweat. A 
number of cowboys lounged, indolently, in the shade of the bunk-house, 
smoking cigarettes and contentedly enjoying the hour of rest after the 
noon-day dinner. Another, lean-built, slender, boyish in appearance and 
with strangely black, inscrutable eyes, stepped from around the corner 
of the house as Skinny jerked Old Pie Face to a standstill. 
"Where's Old Heck?" Skinny asked excitedly. "I brought the mail--here, 
take it to him!" 
The other, known on the Kiowa and the range of western Texas and 
Mexico only as "the Ramblin' Kid," strolled leisurely out through the 
sagging, weight-swung gate and up to the panting horse from which 
Skinny had not yet dismounted. 
"Asleep, I reckon," he replied in a voice peculiarly low and deliberate, 
"--what's your spontaneousness about? You act like a special d'livery or 
somethin'." 
"Old Heck's got a letter," Skinny said, jerkily; "maybe's it's bad news 
an' he ought to have it quick," as the Ramblin' Kid reached for a yellow
envelope held in the outstretched hand. 
At that instant Old Heck, owner and boss of the Quarter Circle KT cow 
outfit, stepped from the shadow of the open ranch-house door. He was 
short and stocky, red-faced, somewhere near the fifties, and a 
yellowish-gray mustache hung over tobacco blackened lips. Overalls, a 
checked blue and white shirt, open at the throat, boots into which the 
trousers legs were loosely jammed comprised his attire. He was 
bareheaded and the sun glistened on a wrinkly forehead, topped by a 
thin sprinkling of hair. 
"What's the matter?" he asked drowsily, his small, gray-blue eyes 
blinking in the yellow sun-glare and still sluggish from the nap 
disturbed by the noise of Skinny's arrival. 
"Nothin'. Skinny's just got a letter an' is excited about it," the Ramblin' 
Kid said, handing the envelope to him. "It's for you." 
"My Gawd!" Old Heck exclaimed, "it's a telegram!" 
The cowboys resting in the shade of the bunk-house rose to their feet, 
sauntered over and surrounded Old Heck and the Ramblin' Kid, 
commenting meanwhile, frankly and caustically, on the fagged 
condition of the broncho Skinny was on: 
"Must 'a' been scared, the way you run that horse," Parker, range 
foreman of the Quarter Circle KT, a heavy-built, sandy-complexioned 
man in the forties, remarked witheringly to Skinny as the cow-puncher 
climbed from the saddle and slid to the ground. 
"He's mine, I reckon," Skinny retorted, "an' I figure it's nobody's darn' 
business how I ride him--anyhow I brought Old Heck a telegram!" he 
added triumphantly. 
"Blamed if he didn't!" Charley Saunders, with a trifle of awe, pretended 
or real, in his tone, said. "It sure is!" 
"My Gawd!" Old Heck repeated, slowly turning the envelope over in
his hand, "it's a telegram! Wonder what it's about?" 
"Why don't you open it and see?" Parker suggested. 
"Yes, open th' blamed thing and find out," Skinny encouraged. 
"I--I've a notion to,"    
    
		
	
	
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