Chip, of the Flying U

Chip, of the Flying U, by B. M.
Bower

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Title: Chip, of the Flying U
Author: B. M. Bower

Release Date: November, 2005 [EBook #9267] [Yes, we are more than
one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on September 16,
2003]
Edition: 10
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHIP, OF
THE FLYING U ***

Produced by Matthew H. Heller

CHIP, OF THE FLYING U
BY
B. M. BOWER (B. M. SINCLAIR)
AUTHOR OF "The Lure of the Dim Trails," "Her Prairie Knight,"
"The Lonesome Trail," etc.
Illustrations by CHARLES M. RUSSELL

CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
The Old Man's Sister II Over the "Hog's Back" III Silver IV An Ideal
Picture V In Silver's Stall VI The Hum of Preparation VII Love and a
Stomach Pump VIII Prescriptions IX Before the Round-up X What
Whizzer Did XI Good Intentions XII "The Last Stand" XIII Art Critics

XIV Convalescence XV The Spoils of Victory XVI Weary Advises
XVII When a Maiden Wills XVIII Dr Cecil Granthum XIX Love Finds
Its Hour
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Came down with not a joint in his legs and turned a somersault
"The Last Stand."
Throwing herself from the saddle she slid precipitately into the washout,
just as Denver thundered up
CHAPTER I.
The Old Man's Sister.

The weekly mail had just arrived at the Flying U ranch. Shorty, who
had made the trip to Dry Lake on horseback that afternoon, tossed the
bundle to the "Old Man" and was halfway to the stable when he was
called back peremptorily.
"Shorty! O-h-h, Shorty! Hi!"
Shorty kicked his steaming horse in the ribs and swung round in the
path, bringing up before the porch with a jerk.
"Where's this letter been?" demanded the Old Man, with some
excitement. James G. Whitmore, cattleman, would have been greatly
surprised had he known that his cowboys were in the habit of calling
him the Old Man behind his back. James G. Whitmore did not consider
himself old, though he was constrained to admit, after several hours in
the saddle, that rheumatism had searched him out--because of his
fourteen years of roughing it, he said. Also, there was a place on the
crown of his head where the hair was thin, and growing thinner every
day of his life, though he did not realize it. The thin spot showed now
as he stood in the path, waving a square envelope aloft before Shorty,

who regarded it with supreme indifference.
Not so Shorty's horse. He rolled his eyes till the whites showed, snorted
and backed away from the fluttering, white object.
"Doggone it, where's this been?" reiterated James G., accusingly.
"How the devil do I know?" retorted Shorty, forcing his horse nearer.
"In the office, most likely. I got it with the rest to-day."
"It's two weeks old," stormed the Old Man. "I never knew it to fail--if a
letter says anybody's coming, or you're to hurry up and go somewhere
to meet somebody, that letter's the one that monkeys around and comes
when the last dog's hung. A letter asking yuh if yuh don't want to get
rich in ten days sellin' books, or something, 'll hike along out here in no
time. Doggone it!"
"You got a hurry-up order to go somewhere?" queried Shorty, mildly
sympathetic.
"Worse than that," groaned James G. "My sister's coming out to spend
the summer--t'-morrow. And no cook but Patsy--and she can't eat in the
mess house--and the house like a junk shop!"
"It looks like you was up against it, all right," grinned Shorty. Shorty
was a sort of foreman, and was allowed much freedom of speech.
"Somebody's got to meet her--you have Chip catch up the creams so he
can go. And send some of the boys