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Updated: June 2, 2025
The young fellow admired the way in which the girl handled her mount. He had seen many half-wild horsemen at the Amarillo street fairs, and the like; since coming to Bill Edwards' place he had occasionally observed a good rider handling a mean cayuse. But this man-handling of a half-wild pony was nothing like the graceful control Frances of the ranges had over Molly.
It will be true to life, too, for some of the very people who take part in our play lived in Amarillo at the time when the sight of a high hat would draw a fusillade of bullets from the door of every saloon and dance-hall." "Don't!" gasped Pratt. "Was Amarillo ever like that?" "And not twenty years ago," laughed Frances. "It had a few hundred inhabitants and most of them ruffians.
But she did not believe they were well rid of Ratty just because he had started for Jackleg Station. She had constantly in mind Ratty and the man, Pete, with their heads together beside the campfire; and she wondered what villainy they were plotting. Nevertheless, in the face of possible danger, she went ahead with her scheme of starting for Amarillo in the morning.
"Please, teacher!" he begged when she looked up from the pad on her knee over which her pencil had been traveling so rapidly. "I'm nurse, not teacher," Frances said, firmly. "Nurse, then. Is that the plan for the pageant you are writing?" "A part of it," she admitted. "Some ideas that came to me the time I went to Amarillo." "With the make-believe treasure chest?" "Yes."
But it wasn't so long ago that your fancy little city of Amarillo was nothing but a cattleman's town. I'm going to have a representation of old Amarillo in our pageant you'll see.
Jose Amarillo, their last hope, a recent convert, who had promised money, had been apprehended at his hacienda in Chihuahua and shot against his own stable wall. The news had just come through. Rivera, on his knees, scrubbing, looked up, with suspended brush, his bare arms flecked with soapy, dirty water. "Will five thousand do it?" he asked. They looked their amazement. Vera nodded and swallowed.
Your mother and I went to Chicago once, and we went to the opera. Say! that was a show! "Let me tell you, there are things in that chest that will outshine anything in the line of ornaments that that Pratt Sanderson or any other Amarillo person ever saw." But what could she do about it? His wish was fathered by his love for her.
But Ratty M'Gill was not so much intoxicated that he could be easily coaxed to divulge any secret. He shook his head, still grinning. "Heard 'em say you were going to Amarillo, before I went to Jackleg," he drawled. "Mighty lonesome journey for a gal to take." "Mack is with me," said Frances, shortly. "I am not lonely." "Whew! I bet that hurt me," chuckled Ratty M'Gill.
After all, Ratty M'Gill was little more than a reckless boy; but this older man was vile and bad. As he squatted over the fire, puffing at his pipe, with his head craned forward, he looked like nothing so much as a bald-headed buzzard, such as she had seen roosting on dead trees or old barn-roofs, outside of Amarillo. Pete finally knocked the ashes out of his pipe on his boot heel and then arose.
She was trying to remember any girl of that name with whom she had gone to school at the Amarillo High. "Sue Latrop's a distant cousin of Mrs. Bill Edwards, and she's from Boston. She's Eastern to the tips of her fingers and talk about 'culchaw'! She has it to burn," chuckled Pratt. "Bill Edwards says she is just 'putting on dog' to show us natives how awfully crude we are.
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