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An' when you find two of 'em jest the same way, with beetle in both, an' wheel-tracks near both, ye don't have to have a dog's nose to scent somethin's doin' that ain't over nice." "But who," said Wilbur indignantly, "would do a trick like that?" "The man that drove that wagon," said the old hunter. "I reckon, son, you an' me'll do a little trailin' an' see where those wheels lead us."
"Been trailin' Miss Randle's favorite hoss. He's lost. An' we got farther 'n we had any idee. Then my hoss went lame. 'Fraid we can't start home to-night." "Where are you from?" "Hoadley. Bill Hoadley's town, back thirty miles or so." "Well, Roberts, if you've no objection we'll camp here with you," continued Kells. "We've got some fresh meat."
Jest so shorely as he finds a faro-bank, jest so shorely he sets in ag'inst it, an' jest so shorely he ain't got a tail-feather left when he quits. "'The races is over for the season. It's the first snow of winter on the ground, when our sport comes trailin' in to make his annyooal camp. He's about six thousand dollars strong; for, as I states, he picks bosses right.
Half of you guys beat it to the Rancho Seco trailin' Deveny an' his boys, to find out what they're doin'. You're herd-ridin' them if they go to monkeyin' with the Rancho Seco. Slope!" Rogers had hardly ceased speaking when the outfit was on the move.
And then there wuz a picter by Whistler, called "The Princess of the Land of Porcelain." You couldn't really tell why that slender little figger in the long trailin' silken robes, and the deep dark eyes, and vivid red lips should take such a holt on you. But she did, and that face peers out of Memory-aisles time and time agin, and you wake up a-thinkin' on her in the night. Mr.
"Take a lady, and dress her in a'most a beautiful long habit, man's hat, stand-up collar and stock, clap a beautiful little cow-hide whip in her hand, and mount her on a'most a splendiferous white hoss, with long tail and flowin' mane, a rairin' and a cavortin' like mad, and a champin' and a chawin' of its bit, and makin' the froth fly from its mouth, a spatterin' and white-spottin' of her beautiful trailin', skirt like any thing.
"Heaven aint sittin' in on this hand, 'bo," grinned the C.L.S. detective cheerfully. "It's devils I'm trailin'. Hell's broke loose an' spilled 'em all over the map." "What do you mean? What's happened? Is my aunt ?" "Oh, y'needn't worry' bout y'r auntie none. She's all hunky-dory. It's those booze birds we're goin' after, you'n'me, see. Chief's orders, kid.
Farrington, sez he, 'I saw wonderful things to-night, past man's understandin'. I've been very near to God, an' beheld the trailin' clouds of His glory! 'Parson, sez I, 'What will ye take fer yer knowledge? How much is it worth?
"There ain't been nothin' fony about our trailin', bo," insisted Byrne, "an' whether Japs are bean collectors or not here's where de ginks dat copped de doll hiked fer, an if dey ain't dere now it's because dey went t'rough an' out de odder side, see." "Hush, Byrne," whispered Theriere. "Drop down behind this bush.
An' tell me, if ye can, why didn't the haythins pile in an' polish us all off, after their chief lost his number? No, they don't rush our works, but off they go trailin', as if 'twas themselves had the odds against 'em, och-honin' fit to set ye crazy, an' carryin' their dead, as if the loss o' one man ended the future o' the tribe.
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