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Updated: May 9, 2025
Olave, and you were yarning to me about Buckskin Jack and Gideon Birkenshaw and the Pony Express? I said something about wishing I could go out West again and enjoy some such adventures as yours, and you said: "Well, you'd better come out with me." I don't know what I answered, but I believe you thought I didn't quite take to the idea, and you went off suddenly without repeating the invitation.
Old Man Birkenshaw was peering searchingly through the dim light of the early dawn, expecting at any moment to see the feathered head of a stealthy Indian warrior moving among the deep shadows.
He entered the living-room one afternoon looking weary and untidy, and flung himself into an easy-chair, giving a curt nod of greeting to Gideon Birkenshaw, who had strolled down from the homestead to have tea with him. "Tired, Kiddie?" Gideon inquired. "Bin workin' too hard?" "No," returned Kiddie, "I ain't tired. I'm never tired." "Ankle still hurtin' you some, mebbe?" pursued Gideon.
The Redskins were retiring into the shelter of the neighbouring pine trees, clearly with the purpose of enticing the defenders away from the corral. Gideon Birkenshaw, falling into the snare, was planning to follow them up or to head them off on the farther side of the wood. He was rallying his forces to give each man his direction when Rube Carter ran towards him. "Abe!
No sound or movement betrayed the presence of marauding Indians, and already the clouds in the east had taken on the rosy tinge of daybreak. Gideon Birkenshaw was beginning to comfort himself in the belief that there would be no attack after all; that his horses were safe.
You've filled their little hearts with a joy they never knowed afore. Selfish! Great snakes!" "Tea's ready," announced Rube Carter, breaking in upon the conversation. "I've opened a new tin o' peaches, and thar's cream." In spite of Kiddie's efforts to be homely and unassuming, Gideon Birkenshaw was not always entirely at his ease in his presence.
The two men lay perfectly still and silent. From afar they could hear the unmistakable sound of a horse's hoofs, becoming momentarily more distinct. "Injuns?" questioned Birkenshaw. He glanced about to assure himself that his men were all at their appointed posts. "No," Isa answered. "'Tain't no prairie cayuse. I c'n make out the ring of its shoes on the hard trail.
The wide loop opened like a wheel, grew suddenly tense and smaller. Then it dropped clean over Broken Feather's head and shoulders, and in an instant the chief's two arms were pinioned to his sides. It was some five hours later when Gideon Birkenshaw, Abe Harum, and Isa Blagg returned to the camp at Sweetwater Bridge.
And so they ceased to think of him as Lord St. Olave, regarding him without restraint as their familiar and unaltered Kiddie. Towards tea time he took out his watch. Gideon Birkenshaw noticed that it was a very ordinary one, with a gun metal case, held by a leather thong. "H'm!" the Old Man muttered. "I was expectin', Kiddie, as you'd be wearin' a real gold timepiece with a heavy gold chain.
On the other hand, it was my maternal grandfather, Spotted Tail, who killed Eye-of-the-Moon in their duel on horseback that I've so often told you about. And now it seems Broken Feather and I are at enmity." "Yes," put in Gideon Birkenshaw, "but I ain't figgerin' as Broken Feather's takin' heredity inter consideration; not a whole lot.
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