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"Thank you, Miss Terry," said Royce quietly. "I sorta evened up things with him. Not quite. But sorta. Then you didn't want me?" "Not this trip, Bill. It's just a play of Mr. Packard's here. He didn't like to have it known that I had him all alone here; afraid it might compromise him, you know." She giggled. "Or queer him with his girl, mos' likely!" chuckled Royce.
Dat was a nice fam'ly wid sho' 'nough 'ligion. Whilst dey warnt rich, dey had learnin'. "As a little tike I wore long slip-lak shirts. When dey sont me to town I put on britches an' stuffed de tail o' my slip in 'em so's it pass' for a shirt. I always lived in de Big House an' played wid de white chillun. I sorta looked after' em. I carried 'em to school.
Only, Drew suddenly knew, Johnny was going to keep him. He saw the gun hand shift against the rock—Johnny was taking aim into the pocket. Why? By trusting to Rennie’s word he would have a slim chance, so why spoil it by some treachery? "All right, Johnny, it’s ready for you." "Now you git them hands up, Rennie. Sorta guessed you’d come yourself. I’m gittin’ out, all right.
Kim f'm S'loois. But still, I got that feelin' abaout Italy. Simlike I'd be oh, sorta at home tha'. Had that same feelin' ev' since Unc' Bernique begand to tell me abaout Italy. I'm a-goin' tha', tew, some day, all righty," he concluded at last, waking up from his little dream slowly. "Goin' to be long over to Poetical, Mist' Steerin'?" he diverged again, with his lively mental agility. "No, son.
When he lit gentlemen, when he lit he was the most restless Ute in western Colorado. He milled around the corral considerable. I got a kinda notion he'd sorta soured on the funny-boy business. Anyhow, he didn't cotton to my style o' humor. Different with old Colorow an' the others. They liked to 'a' hollered their fool haids off at the gent I'd put the new Slash Lazy D brand on.
"Jack, seein' I'm not packin' a gun, it'd look sorta natural, along with your other tricks, if you bored me." His gentle voice, his cool mien, his satire, were as giant's arms to drag Belllounds back from murder. The rifle was raised, the hammer reset, the butt lowered to the ground, while Belllounds, snarling and choking, fought for speech. "I'll get even with you," he said, huskily.
'Course," Jeems looked at them apologetically, "it soun's sorta silly, but when Gran'pappy tol' yo' things yo' kinda believed 'em. So aftah he died Ah usta come huntin' heah too. An' then when Ah opened the chest and foun' these " From his breast pocket he drew a wash-leather bag and opened it. He held out to Val a chain of gold mesh ending in a carnelian carved into a seal.
I maybe don't weah no blue coat regular, but whiskey sounds sorta refreshin', don't it, now?" "Just so you only think that, Anse, and don't try any tastin'," Drew warned. "We make our big talk to this captain, and then we move out fast. You boys know the drill?" "Sure," Driscoll repeated.
The ol' man's workin' over there now, tryin' to throw water on it an' make things grow. The ol' man," he ended, shaking his head dubiously, "has put acrost some big jobs, but I reckon he's sorta up against it this trip." "Reclamation work," nodded Conniston. "That's what some folks calls it. Others calls it plumb foolishness. Git up, there, Lady! Stan' aroun', you pinto hoss!"
Then then, Miss Nell, I grabbed her it was outside here by the porch an' all bright moonlight I grabbed her an' hugged an' kissed her good. When I let her go I says, sorta brave, but I was plumb scared I says, 'Wal, are you goin' to marry me now?" He concluded with a gulp, and looked at Helen with woe in his eyes. "Oh! What did Bo do?" breathlessly queried Helen. "She slapped me," he replied.
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