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Updated: June 27, 2025
"And I'm leavin' it to my boss, or Bud Long, or your own boss" and he indicated Houck with a gesture "if I ain't right." "Who in hell are you, anyhow?" queried Gary, "Me? I'm Pop Annersley's boy, Pete.
But the trio sat very silent, so that the scratch of Sir Mortimer's pencil could be plainly heard as he duly registered his bet, which done, he turned his attention to Barnabas again, looking him up and down with his bold, black eyes. "Hum!" said he musingly, "it sticks in my mind that I have seen you somewhere or other, before we met at Sir George Annersley's. Perhaps you will tell me where?"
The sheriff was no longer puzzled about the two rifles having been used. The cowboy had told him that two of the T-Bar-T men had been killed. That in each instance a thirty-thirty, soft-nosed slug had done the business. Annersley's rifle was an old forty-eighty-two, shooting a solid lead bullet.
Don't let anything happen in this next year over there that you will regret for a life-time. That is a queer preachment and I'm a jolly rotten preacher. But somehow I felt I had to say it. You can remember it or forget it as you like." Ted lit another cigarette, looked up straight into Geoffrey Annersley's war lined face. "Thank you," he said. "I think I'll remember it.
Then, standing on tip-toe, Barnabas set his hands to the coping of the wall, and drawing himself up, caught a momentary vision of smiling gardens, of green lawns where bright figures moved, of winding walks and neat trimmed hedges, ere, swinging himself over, he dropped down among a bed of Sir George Annersley's stocks.
He needs feedin' and restin' up. That boy your boy?" "That kid! Huh! I picked him up when he was starvin' to death over to Enright. I been feedin' him and his no-account dog for a year, and neither of 'em is worth what he eats." "So? Then I reckon you won't be missin' him none if I take him along up to my place." The horse-trader did not want to lose Young Pete, but he did want Annersley's money.
"Twelve, goin' on thirteen." "Uh-huh. And the hoss?" "Oh, he's got a little age on him, but that don't hurt him none." Annersley's beard twitched. "He must 'a' been a colt for quite a spell. But I ain't lookin' for a cow-hoss. What I want is a hoss that I can work. How does he go in harness?" "Harness! Say, mister, this here hoss can pull the kingpin out of a wagon without sweatin' a hair.
I threw away the addresses when I left San Francisco and tucked my tickets into it. Why, Larry, I'm remembering really remembering," she stopped short on the stairs to exclaim in a startled incredulous tone. "Of course you are remembering, sweetheart," echoed Larry happily. "Come on down and remember the rest with Annersley's help. He is some cousin.
When it came to the plaiting of rawhide into bridle-reins and reatas, the handling of a rope, packing for a hunting trip, reading a dim trail when tracking a stray horse, or any of the many things essential to life in the hills, Young Pete took hold with boyish enthusiasm, copying Annersley's methods to the letter.
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