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'Twas plain enough that whoever'd left that ship had took pains that she shouldn't tell no tales, and 'twan't long before they found out the reason.
Grace started, and leaned forward beseechingly. "Will?" she breathed. "Yes," he continued, answering her unspoken question, "we found Beauty." The girl's eyes opened wide at this new disclosure, and Grace grasped her brother's arm imploringly. "Oh, Will, where?" "He was found by one of the farmers near the town. Looked as though he'd broken away from whoever'd had him.
Dixon came running downstairs and into the bar. "Good gracious!" she ses, staring at her 'us-band. "Whoever'd ha' thought o' seeing you agin? Where 'ave you sprung from?" "Ain't you glad to see me, Julia?" ses George Dixon. "Yes, I s'pose so; if you've come back to behave yourself," ses Mrs. Dixon.
I reckon he figgered that if he tried to ride away on this ridge whoever'd done the shootin' would see him. An' so he didn't go. He stayed right here an' watched me when I rode up." He smiled. "There ain't no use lookin' for that dogie. The man that stayed here has run him off." There was nothing left for Ferguson to do. He mounted and rode slowly along the ridge, examining the tobacco pouch.
"Did you ever see th' like o' that?" His companions remained curiously silent. "Gully!" he continued, with vibrating voice, "whoever'd a-thought that that drawlin' English dude could shoot like that? . . . Fred Storey should have been here. . . ." Still getting no response to his remarks he glanced up wonderingly.
Dixon came running downstairs and into the bar. "Good gracious!" she ses, staring at her 'us-band. "Whoever'd ha' thought o' seeing you agin? Where 'ave you sprung from?" "Ain't you glad to see me, Julia?" ses George Dixon. "Yes, I s'pose so; if you've come back to behave yourself," ses Mrs. Dixon.
"Why, whoever'd expected to find you 'way out here!" exclaimed a brisk and cheerful voice. There stood Betsey Lane herself, close behind them, having just emerged from a thicket of alders that grew close by. She was following the short way homeward from the railroad. "Why, what's the matter, Mis' Dow? You ain't overdoin', be ye? an' Peggy's all of a flutter. What in the name o' natur' ails ye?"
Playin' now is just a time-consumer, that's all; they got it all tore to pieces, no top or bottom to it. "We used to play games, too. Ring games at play parties 'Ring Around the Rosie', 'Chase the Squirrel', and 'Holly Golly'. Never hear of Holly Golly? Well, they'd pass around the peanuts, and whoever'd get three nuts in one shell had to give that one to the one who had started the game.
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