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Then his eyes became curiously reflective. "Wher's Zip?" "Zip? Guess he's around with the kids. Y'see, the Bird's helpin' him fix things. Maybe they're back in the dinin'-room." Bill stood for a moment in deep thought. Then he turned suddenly, and his fierce little eyes fixed themselves on his friend's face. "Them kids," he said sharply.
I told him he best git back to hum, an' git busy fixin' his funeral right, so he wouldn't have no trouble later." "Wher's he from?" someone asked. "Sufferin' Creek," replied the cowpuncher, "an' seems to me he's got more grit than savvee." And this opinion was more or less the general one.
He's ahead on the game, he's a golden-haired pet with the gals, an' he gits gold in lumps." But Pete's dark face and hungry eyes showed no appreciation, and Beasley knew that the man's mood was an ugly one. "Wher's he now?" "Can't jest say. I didn't ask him wher' he was goin'. Y' see I cashed his gold, and we had a drink. He seemed excited some. Guess he was sort of priming himself.
I reckon ther's jest one thing fer us to do when a crazy man gits around with a gun. It's time to light out. Wher's Victor?" And her eyes fell upon the treasure-chest. "Him an' me's changed places. He's back ther'." Jean jerked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the huts in the wood. Davia was on her feet in an instant and her eyes sparkled angrily. "What d'ye mean, Jean?" The man shrugged.
The completeness of his appointments was the envy of the corps, and the gay fellow himself was the admiration of the camp servants, axemen, teamsters and cooks. "I reckon you didn't git them boots no wher's this side o' Sent Louis?" queried the tall Missouri youth who acted as commissariy's assistant. "No, New York."
"Have you give 'em their bath?" he demanded. Scipio pointed at the stove, on which the water was already boiling. "The water's cookin'," he said. "Guess it's most ready." The gambler glanced round the room severely. "Then why the devil is you'se fellers settin' around? Wher's the tub?" "Down at the creek. It's the wash-tub," Scipio explained, bestirring himself. The other men stood up ready.
He sat up, looking dazed and ludicrous: "Wher's the little feller?" "I got him," panted the breathless mother, shaking the child from side to side as she showed it to him. "He's all right," cried the engineer, "but I hit you. Where are you hurt?" "I ain't hurt no place," said Mallston, crawling up on all fours, "'cept wher' my back and head hit the fence."
"Say, boss, it ain't no use in squealin'," he grumbled, in the hard tones of a man who yields to no feelings of sympathy. His weather-stained face was set and ugly in its expression. "Wher's the use in it anyway?" he demanded. "Get a look around. There's miles of territory, an' all of it runs into them blamed hills. I got three boys with me. They're right boys, too.
The postmaster felt sorry for her and showed it. "It's easy," he declared. Then he gathered his opinions in a bunch, and metaphorically hurled them at her. "Where's the steel girders an' stone masonry?" he demanded. "It's just wood pine. Wher's the figures an' measurements? Who knows the breakin' strain o' them green logs? Maybe it's art, but it ain't architecture.
"Isn't nothin'!" he cried, with fine scorn. "That don't need to worry you. Ain't we got the tallest pine in creation right here on the spot?" The postmaster's eyes widened. Even Kate was startled at the suggestion. "You'd cut down the old tree?" she inquired. "Wher's your sense?" demanded Dy roughly. "Cut down the old pine? Who's goin to do it? Who's got the grit?"
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