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Ladd's sombrero was missing; he wore a bloody scarf round his head; sweat and blood and dust had formed a crust on his face; little streams of powdery dust slid from him; and the lower half of his scarred chaps were full of broken white thorns. "Howdy, boys," he drawled. "I shore am glad to see you all." "Where'n hell's your hat?" demanded Belding, furiously. It was a ridiculous greeting.
"Where'n the nation has he got to, now?" exclaimed the bewildered Captain. We were all doubled up laughing, but we managed to gasp out: "He's gone overboard again!" "What's he done that for?" "He he fell over!" "Fell over? What'n the dickens did he do that for? Where is he, anyhow?" At this moment the sandy head, and astonished face came up, once more, in our wake.
He tracked a murderer down one time, somewhere out Regina way; though how in the nation he ever made this burg has me fairly beat. Where'n the world did that blame chechaquo raise him, d'ye suppose? Surely he'd never have sand enough to go around dog-stealing, would he? An' from the North-west Mounted! Not on your life he wouldn't.
Suddenly she heard two or more of the men speak at once, and then, low and clear: "Gulden, where'n hell are you goin'?" This was Red Pearce's voice. Joan glanced back. Gulden had started down the trail after her. Her heart quaked, her knees shook, and she was ready to run back. Gulden halted, then turned away, growling. He acted as if caught in something surprising to himself.
You've brought us more than we've given, and if you'll stay with us we're going to 'see' your fifty and raise it a hundred. What do you say?" Young Mr. Thorne leaped to his feet. What he said was: "Where'n hell's my hat?" But by the time he had found the hat and the door he mended his manners. "I say, 'thank you a thousand times," he shouted over his shoulder. "Excuse me, but I've got to go.
You've brought us more than we've given, and if you'll stay with us we're going to 'see' your fifty and raise it a hundred. What do you say?" Young Mr. Thorne leaped to his feet. What he said was: "Where'n hell's my hat?" But by the time he had found the hat and the door he mended his manners. "I say, 'Thank you a thousand times," he shouted over his shoulder. "Excuse me, but I've got to go.
They fixed on mine, and never once flickered. "You don't say!" he returned, in measured words. Then he flared up again. "Say! who's the boss here?" "I am," I retorted, getting warm. He came over to the middle of the floor. "And where'n the hell do I come in?" he asked. "Don't know, I'm sure, mister; and I don't care very much either.
You've brought us more than we've given, and if you'll stay with us we're going to 'see' your fifty and raise it a hundred. What do you say?" Young Mr. Thorne leaped to his feet. What he said was: "Where'n hell's my hat?" But by the time he had found the hat and the door he mended his manners. "I say, 'Thank you a thousand times," he shouted over his shoulder. "Excuse me, but I've got to go.
You've brought us more than we've given, and if you'll stay with us we're going to 'see' your fifty and raise it a hundred. What do you say?" Young Mr. Thorne leaped to his feet. What he said was: "Where'n hell's my hat?" But by the time he had found the hat and the door he mended his manners. "I say, 'thank you a thousand times," he shouted over his shoulder. "Excuse me, but I've got to go.
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