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I ain't a-goin' to wear no gloves," said Billy, firmly. Mrs. Wiggs continued her search. "Here's yer grandpa's watch-fob, but I'm skeered fer you to wear it, you might lose it. It's a family remnant been handed down two generations. What about this here red comforter?
'Young man, interposed the landlord, 'such blas-pheémous langige as that must not be spoke here; I ain't a-goin' to have my good beer turned to vinegar by blasphemin' them as owns the thunder, I can tell you. But the effect of my words upon the Gypsy was that of a spark in a powder-mine. 'Henry? she said, 'Henry? are you the fine rei as she used to talk about?
I ain't a-goin' to be taken again, an' whoever tries it gets his, see?" Eddie was down off the porch in an instant, and making for the ranchhouse. "I'm with you," he said. "Who told you? And who done it?" "Never mind who told me; but a siwash named Esteban was to pull the thing off for Grayson. Grayson wanted Miss Harding an' he was goin' to have her stolen for him." "The hound!" muttered Eddie.
I'm a-goin' to see Miss Sylvia, who has fainted, and small blame," and she made for the locked door. An officer came after her. "Go away," shrieked Deborah, pushing him back. "I've got next to nothink on, and my pretty is ill. Go away and do your business."
He'd rather lose his ranch than wait any longer for Sis, so he said; but I guess he's seen the sense of what I told him. 'Ruth Mary ain't a-goin' to run away, I says, 'even if ye don't prove up on her this fall. You ought to 'a' told her, mother, 'twas my proposition." "I told her that and more too. I told her it showed he'd make a good provider.
"Peachey, little Peachey, what's them waves a-sayin' to the rocks? It's: `ME! YOU! ME! YOU! Ain't they always been a-sayin' it? Kin you stop 'em, little Peachey? And that's the words I'm a-standin' here now fer to say to you." "I ain't a-goin' to listen," she cried sharply, drawing back. "I don't want none o' your words. You just leave me alone, now, Mister Mister "
No, sir, the pilgrim ain't got a show if he's got to face a jury. There's only one way out, an' there's about fifteen or twenty of the boys that's willin' to give him a chance. We're a-goin' to bust him out of jail an' put him on a horse an' run him up some cottonwood coulee with a rope around his neck."
Devil him into a fight an' then let him hand me a lacin'. I reckon not." "He'll figure that since he can lick you, he can make out to look after himself with the other boys." "He ain't licked me yet, an' that's only half of it. He ain't a-goin' to." Fuming at this outrageous proposition put up to him, the puncher jingled away and left his triple-chinned friend. Blister grinned.
But the boy looked up at her with grim mouth and hard eyes. "I ain't a-goin' to do it, Ma!" he said. It was after supper that very night that the summons came. Bob Kelley, rural policeman, brought it. "Me an' Squire Kirby went to Greenville this mornin'," he said, "to look up some things about court in the mornin'. This evenin' we run into Old Man Thornycroft on the street, lookin' for us.
"We's a-goin' to fight!" groaned the negro. "Oh! I's a awrful hyperkrite! You stop where you am, massa, else you'll get whacked." Despite the risk of being "whacked," the youth would have followed the negro on deck, had not the hatch been slammed in his face and secured. Next moment he heard a volley of musketry on deck.
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