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"You'd stake a roll on Charley," he said, with an upward glance of amusement that was lost in the darkness. "Sure." Kars gave a short laugh. "He's a mascot. It's always been that way since I grabbed him when he quit the penitentiary for splitting another neche's head open in a scrap over a Breed gal. Charley's got all the brains of his race, and none of its virtues.
"His mother's sent post-haste for un. I doubt he 'm to the cottage by now. Such a gude, purty gal as she was, tu! An' so mute as a twoad at the buryin', wi' never a tear to soften the graave dust. For why? She knawed she'd be alongside her man again 'fore the moon waned. An' I hope she may be. But 't was cross-roads an' a hawthorn stake in my young days.
She's down on that floor because she loves dancing, and for Pap's business. She's there for loot, sure, and she gets it plenty. She's there with her dandy smile to see the rest of the women get busy. Playing that feller's dirty game for all it's worth. And she's just a gal full to the brim of life.
I stepped down on to the cabin floor, and then I told 'em both wot I thought of 'em. "'Come along, Alfred, ses the gal, 'else the cook'll be back before we start. "'He's all right, ses the young man. 'Minnie's looking arter him. When I left he'd got 'arf a bottle of whisky in front of 'im. "'Still, we may as well go, ses Miss Butt. 'It seems a shame to keep the cab waiting.
No, I'm t'ink 'bout her all de tarn'. She's li'l' gal, an' I'm beeg, strong feller w'at don' matter much an' w'at ain' know much 'cept singin', an' lovin' her. I'm see for sure now dat I ain' fit for her I'm beeg, rough, fightin' feller w'at can't read, an' she's de beam of sunlight w'at blin' my eyes."
"General Washington, as a compliment to the French, has decided that their guns shall fire the first shot." A growl came from the captain of the nearest cannon. "I promised the old gal," he muttered discontentedly, his hand on his thirty-two pounder, "that she should begin it, an' she's sighted to knock over that twelve pounder that 's been teasin' us, or may I never fire gun agin."
Ralph paid no heed to the taunting inquiry. He looked over at Aim-sa, who had shrunk away. Now she answered his look with one that was half-pleading, half-amused. She realized the feud which was between the men, but she did not understand the rugged, forceful natures which she had so stirred. "Say, gal," Ralph said abruptly. "Ther's jest us two.
"How us has got a new neighbor a bootiful young gal as bootiful as a picter in a gilt-edged Christmas book wid a snowy skin, and sky-blue eyes and glistenin' goldy hair, like the princess you was a readin' me about, all in deep mournin' and a weepin' and a weepin' all alone down there in that wicked, lonesome, onlawful ole haunted place, the Hidden House, along of old Colonel Le Noir and old Dorkey Knight, and the ghost as draws people's curtains of a night, just for all de worl' like dat same princess in de ogre's castle!"
The tree reached, the frontiersman threw back the flat rock and brought forth the message left by the great scout. He read it aloud. "Following Yellow Elk!" cried Jack Rasco. "I know the rascal! And it was he as stole my gal! Jess wait till I git my hand on his windpipe, thet's all! Whar's thet cave, Gilbert?" "I don't know, but it must be somewhere up the ravine. Come on."
Miss Peckham, with flashing black eyes and more color in her face than usual, had drawn herself up commandingly in the middle of the kitchen floor and was staring at Mr. Day angrily. "There's that gal!" exclaimed the spinster. "She's the one to blame." "I assure you to the contrary, Janice was doing her best to hide Mrs. Watkins' shortcomings from me," said Mr. Day, smiling warmly at his daughter.
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