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"Well, f'r instance," he said, spurring his imagination into action, "there was the fellow I run down an' shot in the Cypress Hills." "Shot!" she exclaimed, and the note of admiration in her voice stirred him to further flights. "Yep," he continued, proudly. "Shot an' buried him there, right by the road where he fell. Only me an' that Pete-horse knows the spot." George sighed sentimentally.
Them two didn't amount to much to my way o' thinkin', but their pa an' ma set considerable store by 'em ... Ben Letts were a bad 'un, too. It used to make me plumb ugly to see 'im botherin' Tess when ye was shet up, Orn, an' him all the time the daddy of Myry's brat." "Yep, Ben were bad," agreed Skinner.
"Not more than fifteen miles if it is that, 'cording ter my calcerlations," decided Pete. "Then we should arrive there by ten o'clock to-night." "About that time yep. That is, if none of ther stock give out beforehand." "Why do they call it the Haunted Mesa?" inquired Jack. "Some fool old Injun notion 'bout ghosts er spirits hauntin' it," rejoined Pete.
They're all weak weak in their bodies, weak in their heads, weak both ways." "Yep, they are a pretty measly bunch," Billy admitted modestly. "It's the wrong time of the year to see Pajaro Valley," Benson said, when he again sat beside Saxon and Sargent's was a thing of the past. "Just the same, it's worth seeing any time. Think of it twelve thousand acres of apples!
"Testin' the wire after the storm, most likely," he explained, taking the receiver from the hook. "Hello! . . . Hello! . . . Yep, this is Eastboro Lights. . . . I'm the lightkeeper, yes. . . . Hey? . . . Miss Graham? . . . Right next door. . . . Yes. . . . WHO?" Then, turning to his companion, he said in an astonished voice: "It's somebody wants to talk with you, Emeline." "With ME?" Mrs.
The conversation was at last relieved of the plague of Carol's intrusions and they settled down to the question of whether the justice of the peace had sent that hobo drunk to jail for ten days or twelve. It was a matter not readily determined. Then Dave Dyer communicated his carefree adventures on the gipsy trail: "Yep. I get good time out of the flivver.
Where we've got to now is the first one." "Do I understand," said Anna-Rose, trying to be very dignified, while her heart shrank within her, for what sort of sum did one offer people like this? "that to America one tips at the beginning as well?" "Yep," said the youth. "And in the middle too. Right along through.
Well, she hands him back the ring, proper enough; and George goes away and hits the booze. Yep. That's what done it. I bet that girl fired the cornucopia with the fancy vest two days after her steady left. George boards a freight and checks his bag of crackers for parts unknown. He sticks to Old Booze for a number of years; and then the aniline and aquafortis gets the decision.
I didn't expect him to, though," he added, wisely, and with a glint. "I'm too old a trader for that. He's out of it now, anyway. That Michaels-Kennelly crowd skinned him. Yep, if you'd 'a' been here ten or fifteen years ago you might 'a' got in on that. 'Tain't no use a-thinkin' about that, though, any more. Them sheers is sellin' fer clost onto a hundred and sixty." Cowperwood smiled. "Well, Mr.
If two sets of criminals set out to grab, it's odds they'll do hurt to each other, and end by leaving the world easier when they're completely despoiled." Peterman laughed. "Sure," he said. "And these fool criminals? Is there need for them to fall out?" "None." "That's how we of the Skandinavia feel. That's the notion always in my mind. Say " "Yep?" Bull's eyes were squarely gazing.
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