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Updated: May 25, 2025
"Why, it's Hop Sing!" exclaimed Jo, upon first sight of the prisoner. "They've cut off half his queue and braided his hair in two pig tails, and put different clothes on him, and he does look like an Indian. How very extraordinary!" "Kethem Digger Dan cloe," blazed Sing. "That's a likely tale," said the sheriff, "betcha he knows more about stage robbin' than he'll let out."
The punchers made a half-circle round Bob. One grinned and made comment. "Here's one looks ripe, fellows. Jes' a-honin' for a ride, looks like." "Betcha he don't last ten jumps," another said. Before Bob could offer any resistance or make any protest he had been jubilantly seized and dumped down on the hide. "Let 'er go," some one shouted. The horse, at the touch of the spur, jumped to a gallop.
It was a chastened Racey Dawson that returned to Farewell. He went directly to the blacksmith shop. "'Lo, Hoss Thief," was Piney Jackson's cheerful greeting. "Whose is it?" demanded Racey Dawson, wiping his hot face. "Whose hoss have I stole?" "Oh, you'll catch it," chuckled the humorous Piney. "Yep, you betcha. You've got a gall, you have.
"There ain't no track," he said, "an' that 'dobe shack don't look much like a town; but otherwise his Knibbs has got our number all right, all right. We are the birds a-flyin' south, and Flannagan was the shiver in the air. Flannagan is a reg'lar frost. Gee! but I betcha dat guy's sore."
How could you tell what was comin'? Betcha we find her right away. Mebbe she let out somethin' to Cole. She doesn't look to me like a girl who could play out a stiff hand alone." "She isn't. She's dependent always has leaned on some one." Rose had regained control of herself quickly. She stood straight and lissom, mistress of her emotions, but her clear cheeks were colorless.
"I wouldn't live in the damn place if you give it to me, Bonnie Bell," says I, cheerful. She looked at me kind of funny. "That's the kind of a house the best people have in this town," says she. "For instance, that house we're looking at looks as though the best architects in town had designed it. That place, Curly, cost anywhere from a half to three-quarters of a million, I'll betcha."
"Bad, Johnnie?" "Nope. A plumb li'l' scratch. Wha's the matter with you?" A gleam of humor flitted into the eyes of the cattleman. "I ran into a door." "Say, Clay," Johnnie burst out, "I'll betcha can't guess." His friend laughed in amiable derision, "Oh, you kids in the woods. I knew it soon as I opened the door." He walked up to the girl and took her hand. "You got a good man, Kitty.
The forelady gave her locker to some one else. Such a row! Louisa said: “I got mad, I did. I told her to go to hell. That's only w-w-w-way anybody gets anything in this world—get mad and say you go to h-h-hell. Betcha.” A little later the forelady, when the Italian was on one of her trips after a drink, leaned over and gave me her side of the story.
She picked him up gently and carried him out. "He's a champeen at that too," said Steve. "I had to pull him out of the hay this morning. Well, I guess he's earned it. He's had a busy day." "What happened then, Steve?" "Why, after that there wasn't a thing to it. Whiting, poor simp, couldn't see it. 'Betcha ten dollars my kid wins, he hollers.
I got fifty dollars more to back the pack-horse. How about it, Sanders? You got the sand to cover that? Or are you plumb scared of my broomtail?" "Betcha a month's pay thirty-five dollars. Give you an order on the boss if I lose," retorted Dave. He had not meant to bet, but he could not stand this fellow's insolent manner. "That order good, Dug?" asked Doble of his half-brother.
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