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But pointed saplings, and the iron ramrods of their rifles the Ranger's ordinary spit are in greater demand, and broiling is the style of cuisine most resorted to.
"Stand back, Bucky O'Connor or, by God, I'll drill you!" The vaquero smiled. "Right guess, Black MacQueen. I arrest you in the name of the law." Black's revolver spat flame twice before the ranger's gun got into action, but the swaying of the train caused him to stagger as he rose to his feet.
"Yes, but you'll eat it cold this morning." "Oh, pooh!" "If you are going to be a Ranger you must be willing to take a Ranger's fare," smiled the captain. "I haven't said I wanted to be a Ranger. I don't. I want to be a peaceful citizen." "With four square meals a day and a whole pie thrown in," suggested Tad. "Something like that," smiled Stacy. The tent was already coming down.
The kid looks stanch, and, anyhow, if you guarantee him that's enough for me." He accepted another of the ranger's cigars, puffed it to a red glow, and leaned back to smile at his friend. "Glory, but it's good to see ye, Bucky, me bye. You'll never know how a man's eyes ache to see a straight-up white man in this land of greasers.
Henry Mead, known as Washington Hall, but sometimes called Lakeside Academy, from the fact that it was on Rudmore Lake, in the town of Rudmore, started forth on mischief bent. It was Jack Ranger's idea, any one could have told that. For Jack was always up to some trick or other. Most of the tricks were harmless, and ended in good-natured fun, for Jack was one of the best-hearted lads in the world.
That continued until she was able to catch a mental picture of herself, with parts of her fur more deeply colored, curled up on the Ranger's lap and purring with contentment while he gently scratched behind her ears. She echoed his amusement silently, then began examining his mind pattern.
Lying on the portico, tied in the sack, in which it swung at the ranger's saddle-horn, is the head of Joaquin Murieta. Valois struggles to his feet. Surrounded by the victors, by the light of a torch, he gazes on the awful token of victory. As the timid priest sees the fearful object, he cries, "Joaquin Carrillo!" It is indeed he. The disgraced scion of an old and proud line.
"And is it Burke Ranger's farm that I've blundered into after all?" "I am Burke Ranger's wife," she told him. "But I left off being a bride a long time ago. We are all too busy out here to keep up sentimental nonsense of that sort." "And isn't it the cynic that ye are entirely?" rejoined the visitor, broadly grinning. "Sure, it's time I introduced myself to the lady of the house.
Last year the Forest Service gave away without charge more than $196,000 worth of saw timber, house logs, fencing, fuel, and other material to men and women who needed it for their own use. Usually it is the Ranger's work to issue the permits for this free use, and to designate the timber that may be cut.
Like a flash Charley picked up the dog leash and tied an end of it around the ranger's arm, close to the shoulder, drawing it so tight that the ranger winced. He cut the dangling end and took a second turn just above the ranger's elbow. Then he made a third turn half-way down the forearm. With little sticks he twisted the cords still tighter.
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