United States or Turkey ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
For Mollie's back could express, Grace had once said, "more emotions in a minute than most people's faces could in a year." And, riding as they so often did, in full view of that expressive back, the girls had come to interpret its owner's emotions correctly in nine cases out of ten. So now they were able to detect a very quickened interest.
The little car justified its owner's faith in it, however, for it went along at a good clip. The road from Conejo was fairly good and they made good time. The sun was down and the evening had set when they reached the place where Scott and Polly had taken the trail. Mendoza stopped the car. "Lots of men been by here," he said. "Soldiers or bandits mebbe bot'."
They said they knew the cab was McGovern's and they wanted to know where he was, and why he wasn't on it; they wanted to know where Gallegher had stolen it, and why he had been such a fool as to drive it into the arms of its owner's friends; they said that it was about time that a cab-driver could get off his box to take a drink without having his cab run away with, and some of them called loudly for a policeman to take the young thief in charge.
"What was the name o' the ranch where your mate was left?" asked Buck Tom, when his guest ceased speaking. "The ranch of Roaring Bull," answered Charlie. "I should not wonder," he added, "if its name were derived from its owner's voice, for it sounded like the blast of a trombone when he shouted to his people." "Not only his ranch but himself is named after his voice," returned Buck.
"In the private office there." "So this is your private car, is it?" "Yes." "Hm-m-m!" "You seem to know a lot about the show business." Phil made no reply, but dropped into the owner's chair at the latter's desk. "Get out of that chair!" "I thought you invited me to sit down?" "I did, but I might have known you wouldn't have had sense enough to sit where you ought to." "Where's that?"
As she studied his face she knew that she couldn't possibly have been afraid of that face anyway, unless, perhaps, she had ventured to disobey its owner's orders. He had a strong, firm chin, and his lips though kindly in their curve looked decided as though they were not to be trifled with. On the whole if this was a missionary then she must change her ideas of missionaries from this time forth.
Well, I run on to an unbranded Pot-Hook-S calf that looks good to me, but I don't dare put my iron on him because he's too young to leave his mother. If I let him go until he is older, some of Jim Reid's riders will brand him, and, you see, I never could work over the Pot-Hook-S iron into my Five-Bar. So I earmark the calf with the owner's marks, and don't brand him at all. Then he's a sleeper.
The mare I had chosen proved a good traveler. When morning came I saw a big plantation, with the owner's and negroes' houses, just ahead of me. I was anxious to learn how my disguise was going to work, and therefore rode boldly up to the house of the overseer and asked if I could get rest and some sort of breakfast.
When I went by the owner's house with those loads and took them to our barn, he was out there and he looked awfully sour. That man, to my knowledge, had never grown half as much to the acre since I had known of his being on the land, probably never more than one-third as much. Old run-out timothy sod; no manure, no fertilizer, nothing but the work, this spring fallowing.
No shuffling, no evasion, no embarrassment, even under this crucial test. The Colonel was nonplussed. He led Tracy to a chromo which had suffered damage in a former owner's hands through being used as a lamp mat, and said, with a flourish of his hand toward the picture "This del Sarto " "Is that a del Sarto?"
Word Of The Day