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"Yep, I hurt in there!" he muttered brokenly. And as ashen and more ashen grew the wrinkled old countenance, Tessibel cried out sharply in protest. "Why, Daddy, what d'ye mean by yer heart's hurtin' ye?... What do ye mean, Daddy?... I thought the doctor'd fixed yer heart so it wouldn't pain ye no more." The man considered the appealing young face an instant.

He rolled on his side, stuck all his claws out and drew them in again luxuriously, purring meanwhile like a miniature sawmill. When Cap'n Abe came back the girl asked: "Wasn't your customer a young man I saw on the porch as I came in?" "Yep. Lawford Tapp. Said he forgot some matches and a length o' ropeyarn. I reckon you went to that young man's head.

"Oh, I don't know; but I 'low about twenty-four or twenty-five, along in there." "Where were you last Wednesday?" "What?" "Were you one of the posse sent out to search for Cal Greathouse?" "Yep; me and Cap Franklin, there." "Who else?" "Why, Juan, there, him. He was trailin' the hoss for us." "Where did you go?" "About sixty miles southwest, into the breaks of the Smoky." "What did you find?"

A queer light came into the old fellow's eyes as he looked into those of Robert Fairchild. "Don't get 'em too high!" he admonished. Fairchild stared. "What?" "Hopes. I 've seen many a fellow come in just like you. I 've been here thirty year. They call me Old Undertaker Chastine!" Fairchild laughed. "But I'm hoping " "Yep, Son." Undertaker Chastine looked over his glasses.

Hippy sat down, held the box up to his ear and shook it. "Yep! Something in it. Sounds like gold rattling about in there, but the box is locked. Get a hammer so I can break it open." "I do not like the idea at all," objected Grace somewhat severely. "It is not our property and we have no right to " "Everything on the desert is any man's property," corrected the guide.

"Yep," said Curly. "She's there, sure. Or you could git it by diggin' anywheres in here in the creek bed, inside of four or five feet at most." Franklin again felt constrained to ask somewhat of the means by which these two felt so confident of their knowledge. "Well, now, Curly," he said, "it isn't instinct this time, surely, for Juan didn't say anything about it to you.

You never could gamble if it had a cold in the head or a mortal pain in its vitals. It wus kind o' passionate in some of its keys, and wep' an' sniveled like a spanked kid in others. Then it would yep like a hound if you happened to push the wrong button, an' groan to beat the band if you didn't. Nope.

"When I get you up the road a piece I'm going to drive all the cute lil boys and girls up a side trail, and take all of papa's gosh-what-a-wad in the cunnin' potet-book, and I guess we'll kiss lil daughter, and drive on, a-wavin' our hand politely, and let you suckers walk to the next burg." "You wouldn't dare! You wouldn't dare!" "Dare? Huh! Don't make the driver laugh!" "I'll get help!" "Yep.

Guess Lorson'll halve his smile. He's been coming along fourteen year, ain't it?" Dupont nodded, his contemplative gaze following the procession of sleds under the skilful driving of their attendants. "Yep." Dupont was a lesser trader who lived in a state of furious discontent at the monopoly of the greater store. "The Brand outfit's been trading here fourteen years and more." "How's that?"

The title, whose meaning dawned slowly on his astonished mind as a sunset comes in winter over a grey landscape, was The Critique of Pure Reason. He turned the book over and over in his hands. It was well thumbed. He asked, controlling his voice: "Are you fond of Kant?" "Eh?" queried the other. "Fond of this book?" "Yep, that's one of my favourites. But I ain't much on any books."