It was a wonderful bar b q. The dog is a yellow lab, part lab, part hog, that’s all.
It was high noon. Miss Sugar, my trophy wife, was fussing in the kitchen when she hollered, “Big Bronc, they’re coming! Lots of ‘em. You better be ready. I’m gittin plumb nervous.”
Soon they commenced to coming up our lane to the ranch house. Dozens of folks arrived in waves. We was surrounded.
Me and Texas Bob took our stations, him by the cantina, me peeking out from inside the house. We was ready, providin’ there warn’t too many of ‘em. I lost count at 65. That seemed about right for me and the little woman and Texas Bob.
Also, Texas Bob had brung a woman with him, as was his way. She was a spunky redhead, a fancy dresser, name of Ginger. I’d seen her before. Once down in Fort Worth Stockyards, at the Cattlemen’s Club, Bob and Ginger was there with me and Sugar and…
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