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He was not one who could reason away opposition with any patience. It was his temperament to override it. Brad Stearns rubbed his bald head. He always did when he was working out a mental problem. West's declaration could mean only one of two things. Either the girl would not be alive to give witness or she would be silent because she had thrown in her lot with the big trader.
He was so impressed by the ability and manifold accomplishments of Mr. Brad that he thought it a pity for him to travel that road, and one day he asked him why he did not go in for literature. "Literature!" exclaimed Mr. Brad, with some irritation; "I starved on literature for a year. Who does live on it, till he gets beyond the necessity of depending on it?
Brad was not a Bohemian that is, not at all a Bohemian of the recognized type. His fashionable dress, closely trimmed hair, and dainty boots took him out of that class. He belonged to the new order, which seems to have come in with modern journalism that is, Bohemian in principle, but of the manners and apparel of the favored of fortune. Mr.
"How about the boys and Uncle Buck and Brad Charlton?" she demanded. "Better ask them if you want to know." With a flare of temper he contradicted himself. "No, you'd better mind your own business, girl. Forget your foolishness and 'tend to your knitting." "I suppose it isn't my business if my kin go to the penitentiary for train robbery." "They're not going any such place.
Brad didn't believe it. She would fight fight desperately, with barbaric savagery. Her fight would avail her nothing. If driven to it, West would take her with him into the fastnesses of the Lone Lands. They would disappear from the sight of men for months. He would travel swiftly with her to the great river.
The Crane boy tossed in bed, swollen to the eyes with an evil tooth; and his exulting mates so besieged Brad Freeman for preferment, that even that philosopher's patience gave way, and he said he'd be hanged if he'd take the elephant out at all, if there was going to be such a to-do about it.
"Why don't you fight 'em?" asked Milton, after Mr. Jennings had covered the whole ground thoroughly. Councill laughed. "We've been a-fightin' um; suppose you try." "Give us a chance, and we'll do our part. Won't we, Brad?" Bradley nodded, and so committed himself to the fight. He was fated to begin his political career as an Independent Republican.
Mr. Cleves gained much applause for his well-considered wish that all that has been written in the world, all books and libraries, could be destroyed, so as to give a chance to the new men and the fresh ideas of the new era." "My dear sir," said Brad, who did not like this caricature of his friends, "you don't make any allowance for the eccentricities of genius."
He did not intend to be swept into indiscriminate crime. "Don't go with me, Bully," Stearns said. "Count me out. Right here's where I head for Whoop-Up." He turned his horse's head and rode into the darkness. West looked after him, cursing. "We're better off without the white-livered coyote," he said at last. "Brad ain't so fur off at that.
"I was coolin' my mouth. Try that coffee yourself if you don't think it's hot." "I wish she would leave him," said Ruby, more to herself than to the others. "She's got some of 'er own money in the show all of it, I daresay. Money 'er grandmother left 'er a couple of years ago. Brad promised he'd buy 'er share in a year or two and let 'er put the money away for Christine.
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