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Terry, recovering his balance, sprang forward, drew the bowie knife he always carried and plunged it, with a vicious thrust, into Hopkins' neck. Alice Windham and her little son, named Robert for his grandfather, were passing Coleman's store, en route to Benito's office; it was a pleasant, quiet afternoon, almost windless.
He sat down a trifle wearily. "The years aren't kind. Some of the fellows who were young in '56 seemed old tonight.... But they have the same spirit." "Tell me what happened," said Robert, after a pause. Benito's eyes flashed. "You should have heard them cheer when Coleman rose. He called for his old comrades and we stood up. Then there was more cheering. Coleman is all business.
Alessandro could not remember the words, only that after them he set his teeth, and dropping the bridle, laid his head down between Benito's ears, and whispered to him; and Benito never stopped, but galloped on all that day, till he came into Temecula; and there Alessandro saw the roofless houses, and the wagons being loaded, and the people running about, the women and children wailing; and then they showed him the place where his father lay on the ground, under the tule, and jumping off Benito he let him go, and that was the last he ever saw of him.
Calvin McDonald's offered me a job on The American Flag." "What will you do? Write editorials or poetry?" his father asked. Francisco flushed. "I'll be a copy boy to start with.... And there's no harm in writing poetry. Uncle Ben does it himself." It was Benito's turn to redden. "Better let the boy have his way," he said hastily. "Journalism's quite an education in itself."
It might have been supposed that in Benito's state of excitement he would be unable to restrain himself when he found himself once again in the presence of the adventurer. It was not so.
He took a pencil from his pocket. Tapped Benito's shirt front with it. "Buy a little Gould and Curry.... I've just had a tip that it will rise." He hurried on. Windham let his clients wait that afternoon. He took a walk toward Twin Peaks on Market street. That lordly, though neglected, thoroughfare began to make pretensions toward commercial activity. Opposite Montgomery street was St.
Parker shook the rain-drops from his hat. "Saw him going toward the Bella Union," he replied. "They say he's as good as elected. A fine State senator he'll make, too." Taking Benito's arm, he walked with him out of earshot of those nearby. "Benito," his tone was grave. "They tell me you've resumed possession of your ranch." "Yes," confirmed the younger.
Presently, he, too, arose, and despite Benito's urging, departed. It was dusk when he reached the Blue Wing saloon, where "Judge" McGowan awaited him. A burly, forceful man, with bushy eyebrows, a walrus moustache perpetually tobacco-stained, and an air of ruthless command. "Where've you been?" he asked, impatiently, but did not wait for an answer. "Casey's in trouble again."
"You have guessed it. Yes. He thinks there is a chance of finding fortune there." Was that his only reason? Mariquita put her hand upon her heart, which had almost ceased beating. She was sick with apprehension. Did not Benito's departure forebode evil for her lover? Just then her eye fell upon a piece of crumpled paper lying on the floor part of a letter, it seemed.
Without companions, host and guest sat down, like a childless married couple, at opposite ends of the table, Don Benito waving Captain Delano to his place, and, weak as he was, insisting upon that gentleman being seated before himself. The negro placed a rug under Don Benito's feet, and a cushion behind his back, and then stood behind, not his master's chair, but Captain Delano's.
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