“We can see for ourselves,” Phyl replied mischievously, pointing to the artist’s house. “He’s in there, probably posing for Ouster’s Last Stand.”
As they passed the driveway beside the house, 58 TRIPH1BIAN ATOMICAR
Sandy glanced into the back yard and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed.
The others followed her to the yard, then grinned as they watched the scene before them. Seated before an easel was the stout lady artist. She wore a pleased expression. Her subject was not so happy.
Chow’s leathery face bore a scowl. He wore a gaudy silk neckerchief and bearskin chaps as he posed beside a cow.
“Now pick up that branding iron,” the artist ordered, “and pretend you’re branding the bull.”
“You don’t brand ‘em standin’ up!” Choxv protested. “An” besides, this ain’t no bull.”
As if in total agreement, the cow turned her head and licked Chow’s face.
“Get away!” the cowboy stormed.
Unable to restrain themselves any longer, Tom, Bud, and the girls burst into gales of laughter. Chow’s neck reddened with embarrassment. “Sorry, ma’am,”
he apologized, doffing his big hat, “but I ain’t no model.”
Looking straight ahead, the flustered cowboy stomped out of the yard. Tom clamped a hand on his shoulder.
“Come on, old-timer. What you need is a good, juicy, three-inch steak!”
Chow brightened. “Now you’re talkin’, boss. An’ loaded with ketchup, too!”
Darkness had fallen when the group finally
60 TRIPHIBIAN ATOMICAR
started back to the Citadel, with Tom at the wheel. Sandy and Phyl were still chatting excitedly about the day’s sightseeing. The highway was almost deserted, except for a car several hundred yards behind them.
Page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122