Stories of the West . ^^ifp A bucking bronco. THE HOME RANCH 143 returning to the same place to begin anew. Thelittle owls, too, call to each other with tremulous,quavering voices throughout the livelong night, asthey sit in the creaking trees that overhang theroof. Now and then we hear the wilder voicesof the wilderness, from animals that in the hoursof darkness do not fear the neighborhood ofman: the coyotes wail like dismal ventriloquists,or the silence may be broken by the strident chal-lenge of a lynx, or by the snorting and stamp-ing of a deer that has come to the edge of theopen. In the
Stories of the West . ^^ifp A bucking bronco. THE HOME RANCH 143 returning to the same place to begin anew. Thelittle owls, too, call to each other with tremulous,quavering voices throughout the livelong night, asthey sit in the creaking trees that overhang theroof. Now and then we hear the wilder voicesof the wilderness, from animals that in the hoursof darkness do not fear the neighborhood ofman: the coyotes wail like dismal ventriloquists,or the silence may be broken by the strident chal-lenge of a lynx, or by the snorting and stamp-ing of a deer that has come to the edge of theopen. In the hot noontide hours of midsummer thebroad ranch veranda, always in the shade, is al-most the only spot where a man can be comfort-able ; but here he can sit for hours at a time, lean-ing back in his rocking-chair, as he reads orsmokes, or with half-closed, dreamy eyes gazesacross the shallow, nearly dry river-bed to thewooded bottoms opposite, and to the plateaus ly-ing back of them. Against the sheer white facesof th
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Keywords: ., bookauthorroosevelttheodore1858, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910
