The dairy business continued to prove profitable to Gus, the cow

remaining contented, loving and giving. One night, however, there came

the inevitable reaction, and the gentle creature in the cow-shed felt

the same stifling she had rebelled against on the night of the stampede

when she had made her wild dash for liberty. Moved by these

recollections, the sedate, orderly cow became imbued with a feeling of

unrest, and demolishing the frail door was once more at large. In a

frenzy of freedom she dashed about the yard. Her progress was somewhat

impeded by contact with the surplice which, pinned to the clothes-line,

was flapping in the breezes. Maddened by this obstruction which hung,

veil-like, over her bovine lineaments, she gave a twist of her Texas

horns, a tug, and the surplice was released, but from the line only; it

twined itself like a white wraith about the horns.

Then the sportive animal frisked over the low back fence and across the

hill, occasionally stepping on a released end of the surplice and

angrily tearing her way through the garment. She made her road to the

railroad track. That sight, awakening bitter memories of a packed

cattle-car, caused her to slacken her Mazeppa-like speed. While she

paused, the night express backed onto the side track to await the coming

of the eastbound train. The cow, still in meditation, was silhouetted in

the light of a harvest moon.

"This 'ere," a home-bound cattleman was saying to a friend on the

platform, "is nigh onto whar we dropped a cow. I swar if thar ain't that

blasted cow now, what? Know her from hoof to horn, though what kind of a

Christmas tree she's got on fer a bunnit, gits me! Ki, yi! Ki, yi!"

At the sound of the shrill, weird cry, the animal stood at bay. Again

came the well-known strident halloo. A maelstrom of memories was

awakened by the call. Instinctively obeying the old summons she started

toward the train, when from over the hill behind her she heard another

command.

"Co, boss! Co, boss!"

The childish anxious treble rose in an imploring wail.

The cow paused irresolute, hesitating between the lure of the old life

on the plains and the recent domestic existence.

"Co, boss!"

There was a note of entreaty, of affection, in the cry.

After all, domesticity was her birthright. With an answering low of

encouragement the black cow turned and trotted amiably back to meet the

little dairyman.

"Well, I'll be jiggered," said the cattleman, as the train pulled out.

"I'd a swore it was old Jetblack. Maybe 'twas. She was only a milker

anyway, and I guess she's found a home somewhere."




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