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One-Eye was powerfully struck by the improvement in the latter's physical appearance. "Gee-whillikens, sonny!" he cried. "W'y, y're not half as peeked as y' used t' be! Y're fuller in the face! And a lot taller! Say!" And when Johnnie explained that it was mostly due to a quart of milk which a certain Mr. He was back in no time, a quart of ice-cold milk in either hand.
"You can give it to some little girl, Johnnie," she said; " some real poor little girl." "All right." Cis came to him. "Mrs. "And I'll drop in often," interposed Father Pat; " please God!" One-Eye divined what was going forward. He got up uneasily. "Dang it, if I ain't sorry I'm goin' West so soon again!" he fretted. "But I'll tote y' back with me some day, sonny see if I don't!
There could hardly be any danger in such a solitude as that, but the occasion required caution, and the young "brave" made his advances from cover to cover as if there were eyes in every stone of those houses. One-eye crept at his side with his head and tail up, very much as if there had been game ahead. It was a curious piece of business.
"Cis never could dance with One-Eye, and not jus' 'cause he wears spurs, neither. No, she thinks One-Eye's too homely to dance, or go callin', or take t' Wanamaker's. But, oh, she says you're jus' fine! Maybe not as grand as the Prince of Wales, she says, but then she's awful silly about him." More steady looking; more blinking. "Well, er what did you say the little girl's name is?"
The next moment, with a stomp and a slam, and without knocking, One-Eye made a whirlwind entrance into the kitchen, and halted, his wide hat grotesquely over one ear, a quid of tobacco distending that cheek which the hat brim touched, a score of questions looking from that single eye, and every hair on the front of those shaggy breeches fairly standing out straight.
"Nope. He wants the reg'lar old-fashioned kind, with a feather edge right down t' the neck." When one travels about under the wing of a millionaire, all things happen right. This was Johnnie's pleased conclusion as, with a snip, snip, snip, the bright scissors did their quick work over his yellow head. In what One-Eye described afterward as "jig-time," the last snip was made.
The Apache "council of war" lasted until it could hear the cavalry bugle and the distant whoop of the Big Tongue. It could not hear the howl of One-eye, for that brave animal was sitting in the very entrance of the barrier guarding the notch, all alone except for the squaws.
He kept an eye on the other racers, and it was not many minutes before he saw that One-eye was doing almost too well. He was getting away so fast that the grisly gave him up and turned to his other chance for a breakfast. It was as if he had said to himself, "Dogs are no good. They run too well. A nice, tender, well-fed Indian boy, now, and I'll get him in a moment."
"A a doll?" the cowboy repeated feebly. Cis knew that somehow she had said the wrong thing, and hastened to ease the situation. "Oh, just a teeny, weeny one," she compromised. "You see, Mr. One-Eye, I've never had but one, and I thought before I got too big because I've seen small dolls that were so sweet! and I and I " But there she stopped, blushing painfully.
At all events Yellow Pine was safe to jump up and run for the barrier, followed by hasty shots from startled and galloping horsemen, all as useless as so many pebbles. His arrival was greeted by all the shouting and whooping which could possibly be performed by the red and white garrison of the notch, aided by One-eye with a vigor that shook him all over.
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