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But she whirled him back before he had taken three steps. "I clean forgot he was yore hoss," she said, apologetically, to Mr. Saltoun. "I'll have to go back to the Bar S first." "Thassall right," Mr. Saltoun made haste to assure her. "You take him right along. One of the boys can ride yore hoss to town on the next trip an' ride this one back."
"How long before he was killed did Dale sign it, Luke?" "About a hour," replied Tweezy. "It's made out in yore writin', ain't it?" went on the sheriff. "Shore," nodded Luke. "All but the signature. So, you see, Chuck," he continued, turning to Morgan, "you might as well pack him to yore house. We intend to take possession immediately." "You do, huh," said Chuck. "You try it, thassall I gotta say.
How about the 88 ranch?" "'The 88?" repeated Jack Harpe in a tone of surprise. "What'll I have to do with the 88, I'd like to know?" "I dunno," said Racey, his eyes more stupid than ever. "I was just a-wonderin'." Jack Harpe laughed without a sound. It seemed to be a habit of his to laugh silently. "You saw me with Lanpher, didn't you? Well, Lanpher and I are just friends, thassall.
"I was just wondering. I got a curiosity to know why, thassall." "Then hogtie yore curiosity or you'll be gettin' yore time. I'm free to admit I need you, like I said before, but I can do without you if I gotta." "That's just where yo're dead wrong," Alicran promptly contradicted. "You can't do without me. Lanpher, I like the job of bein' yore foreman.
"I ain't got any use for him, thassall." Much emphasis on the part of Racey Dawson. Swing nodded. "See him at Moccasin Spring?" was his drawled question. "I didn't say so." Stiffly. "You didn't have to. And you don't not now. I see it all.
"If I ever get to even thinking that yo're laying for me, Bull, I'm liable to come a-askin' questions you can't answer. Yo're a bright young man, Bull, but you want to be careful how you strain yore intellect. You might need it some day. And if you want to keep on being mother's li'l helper, be good, thassall, be good." "Yo're worse'n a helldodger," affirmed Bull. "You got me sized up right.
And if they should pass the bridge first, what then? It was at least thirty miles from the bridge to the Cross-in-a-box ranch-house. And there was only one horse. Indeed, the close squeak was still squeaking. "Racey, you're limping!" "Not me," he lied. "Stubbed my toe, thassall." "Nothing of the kind. It's those tight boots. Here, you ride, and let me walk." So saying, she slipped to the ground.
"Think you'll make something out of Harpe yore own self, huh?" "That is my idea," admitted Racey. "Well, you got a gall, thassall I gotta say." "You forget you've got a gall, too, when you try to bushwhack me," Racey reminded him. "I'm trying to play even for that." "Try away." "You seem to make it hard for me kind of," grinned Racey.
Chet returned to the subject of the jack, to whose back a blanket was strapped. "I'm sorry my saddles won't fit him," said Chet, "but you'll find sittin' on this blanket as comf'tbul as your mother's rockin'-chair, an' you've only sixty mile t' go." "Sixty miles!" gasped Whitey. "Thassall. Now you keep t' that road, with them hills t' your right, an' when you get t' "
"What business is it of yores?" "What'll Nebraska say?" he proffered. "Nebraska hell!" she sneered. "Nebraska and me are through!" "I know you've split, but that ain't saying Nebraska will let you go with another gent." "I'll go with anybody I please, and neither Nebraska nor you nore any other damn man is gonna stop me. If you think different, try it, just try it! Thassall I ask.
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