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Updated: May 25, 2025
The biscuit-shooter went to church with her friends, so she might wear her fine clothes in a worthy place, while her furloughed husband rushed about Cheyenne, entirely his own old self again, his wad of money staked and in Jode's keeping. Many citizens bitterly lamented their lack of ready money. But it was a good thing for these people that it was Sunday, and the banks closed.
"I run agin her when she was a biscuit-shooter." "Sidney, Nebraska. I run again her there, too." "I knowed her at Laramie." "Where's Lin? He knowed her all the way from Bear Creek to Cheyenne." They laughed loudly at this. "That's a lonesome coffin," said the Doughie. "That the best you could do?" "You'd say so!" said Toothpick Kid. "Choices are getting scarce up there," said Chalkeye.
She talked with the reins between her teeth as she had with the spike, her enunciation triumphantly forceful and distinct. "Some day, I'm coming over The Hill," said Sheila, less successful with a contraction in her throat. The woman made a few strides. Now she was looking shrewdly, close into Sheila's face. "You're a biscuit-shooter at the hotel?" "No. I work in the saloon." "In the saloon?
"Good luck to yu', Sidney!" said Lin, speaking to him for the first time since Cheyenne. "I feel a heap better since I've saw yu' married." He paid no attention to the biscuit-shooter, or the horrible language that she threw after him. Jode also felt "a heap better." Legitimate science had triumphed. To-day, most of Cheyenne believes with Jode that it was all a coincidence.
It could not be because Van Lennop had resented his patronage and his vaporings to any such extent as this; he was not that kind. No; he had been touched deeper than his pride or any petty vanity. Another question like an answer to his first flashed through his mind. Could it be was it possible that his attentions to Essie Tisdale, the biscuit-shooter of the Terriberry House, had been sincere?
"The she-kid rustles a jawb as biscuit-shooter in a Swede beanery oveh to Crested Butte, but she was so plum ugly thet she scahed away all thu feeders an' thu boss sues her foh his come-back. Then she hikes out with a tinhawn Greaser an' ketches thu small-pawx down to Taos, an' passes out accordin'!
Each received the same reply: "Marshall Haney, the gambler prince of Cripple Creek, and his bride, Dead-shot Nell, biscuit-shooter, from Honey Gulch." "Honest?" "Hope to die!" "It's too good to be true! Of course I'll come. Do we have a quiet game after dinner?" "Ah, no, that would be too cruel to Captain Haney. No; we go to the theatre. So be on hand at 7 P.M., sharp."
It was the first time that I had ever seen my gay friend look timidly at any one, and I felt a rising hate for the ruby-checked, large-eyed eating-house lady, the biscuit-shooter whose influence was dimming this jaunty, irrepressible spirit. I looked at her. Her bulky bloom had ensnared him, and now she was going to tame and spoil him. The Governor was looking at her too, thoughtfully.
That "ripple of excitement" which we read about so often in connection with belles and balls went round the room. Frosty and I led the way, and the rest of the "biscuit-shooter brigade," as the others called us, followed two by two. Then came the real Wild West show, with their hats tilted far back on their heads and brazen faces which it pained me to contemplate.
And there sat Molly Wood talking sweetly to her big, grave Virginian; to look at them, there was no doubt that he had been "raised good enough" to appreciate her, no matter what had been his raising! Lin greeted every one jauntily. "How are yu', Miss Peck? How are yu', Tommy?" said he. "Hear the news, Tommy? Crow Injuns on the war-path." "I declare!" said the biscuit-shooter.
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