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He wanted it all in truly Indian style, but the Trapper remarked, "Jest as well to have some tinder and a thong along when you're in the woods, but matches is handier than rubbing-sticks." Blackhawk and Bluejay returned with two pails of dirty, tepid, swampy water. "Why, that's all there is!" was their defense.
The captain frowned, but pushed the engineering room intercom. "Is Dr. Chi with you, Mr. Blackhawk?" he asked, and when Mike's voice answered, "Yes, sir," he said, "Will you both report to the bridge at once, please?" When the two arrived, only a little tardily, on the bridge, the captain addressed Ishie. "You heard of the disaster last night?" The physicist nodded.
"How do you get the horses when you want them? Call 'em?" asked Tom. "Sometimes that will work after a pony has come to know its master but the quickest way is to take some oats in a pan," declared Horace. "We keep the oats here," and he opened a bin at one side of the wagon shed. "You can use oats on Blackhawk and Lightning and our own ponies, but when we want a strange horse we rope him.
Hearing strange sounds, yells, growls, sounds of conflict down below, expecting every moment to hear the Lynx scramble up the trunk again, to finish him, dimly hearing but not comprehending the shouts, he rested once at the leaning tree and breathed freely. "Hurry up, Yan, with that revolver," shouted Blackhawk. "I dropped it long ago." "Where is it?"
"If any other Boiler would like to try I'd be pleased to oblige him," said Yan, just a little puffed up, as he held up the second scalp he had won from Blackhawk. Much to his surprise, Bluejay, the city boy, accepted, and he was still more surprised when the city boy sent him down in the dust.
"Is Blackhawk hurt?" "I don't think so. Ease up, Bill. I've got him by the bridle." Quickly the elder of the Wilder boys rode forward, and as the prostrate pony felt the rope loosen he bounded to his feet. With skilled eye the ranchman looked him over and there was a world of relief in his voice as he said: "We got out of that scrape mighty luckily.
SMITH: But they were such good neighbours why did you throw dish water at them? GRANDMOTHER: That was after other white folks had roiled them up white folks that didn't know how to treat 'em. This very land land you want to buy was the land they loved Blackhawk and his Indians. They came here for their games. This was where their fathers as they called 'em were buried.
My next shot will be through the nitrogen tank at your air-lock. I wouldn't advise you to be there." The wheel turned once more, as the radio came alive from the other end. "Mr. Blackhawk, do you realize that what you are doing constitutes mutiny in space and will be dealt with accordingly on Earth?
At the base of the first range of hills the Blackhawk road winds from the city to the prairie. From its starting-point, just outside the city limits, the wayfarer may catch bird's-eye glimpses of the city, the vast river that the Iowans love, and the three bridges tying three towns to the island arsenal. But at one's elbow spreads Cavendish's melon farm.
"Swish your pans so they can hear the oats," whispered Bill. Slowly the ponies approached, as though deciding whether they preferred their oats or their liberty. "Come, Blackhawk! Come, Buster!" called Horace. The boys set the pans on the ground. For a moment the ponies eyed them and then trotted up, the eight crowding one another to get at the four measures. "Now's the time," breathed Bill.
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