The quirt she had half raised to slash at him, flopped across her pony's neck.
"The Defiant Agents" by Andre Alice Norton
Already the negligent drivers had galloped into the cut, and their long quirts were whistling over the heads of the herd.
"A Collection of Stories, Reviews and Essays" by Willa Cather
Dunne drew his quirt and let him have it.
"Desert Conquest" by A. M. Chisholm
He had a riding-quirt in his hand.
"The Prairie Child" by Arthur Stringer
Molly spurred Blaze on and cut at Plimsoll with her quirt.
"Rimrock Trail" by J. Allan Dunn
Life then had been but the chance of a card, the wink of an eye, the flip of a quirt.
"Valley of Wild Horses" by Zane Grey
The man used quirt, rowel, and profanity like a fiend.
"A Breath of Prairie and other stories" by Will Lillibridge
And, as though fate had ordained it, he beheld a heavy rawhide quirt lying on the ground where he had halted.
"The Night Riders" by Ridgwell Cullum
She stood in her saddle habit, with her quirt still in hand.
"Whispering Smith" by Frank H. Spearman
He jumped straight forward at Belle, who dodged and landed the quirt none too gently on his nose.
"Rim o' the World" by B. M. Bower
Then he mounted that bear with a handful of hair,
For a quirt used a real rattlesnake,
He rode with a rush out thru the buck-brush,
A-swarin' that beast the would break.
"Yavapai Pete" by Curley Fletcher
I drug out my quirt, 'case to me he looked tame,
Like a twenty-two pistol on a forty-five frame.
I got a deep seat and I froze to the cantle,
I jabbed in my meat-hooks clear up to the handle.
"The Ridge-Running Roan" by Curley Fletcher
"I'm a on'ry proposition for to hurt;
I fulfill my earthly mission with a quirt;
I kin ride the highest liver
'Tween the Gulf and Powder River,
And I'll break this thing as easy as I'd flirt."
"The Legend Of Boastful Bill" by Badger Clark Jr
A brush coat and chaps that were scarred up and wrinkled
And a pair of big spurs that still jingled and tinkled.
A pair of old boots and a heavy wool shirt,
Two long hoggin' strings and a Mexican quirt.
"His Old Clothes" by Bruce Kiskaddon
A dying firelight slides along the quirt
Of the cast iron cowboy where he leans
Against my father's books. The lariat
Whirls into darkness. My girl in skin tight jeans
Fingers a page of Captain Marriat
Inviting insolent shadows to her shirt.
"The End Of The Weekend" by Anthony Hecht