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Updated: May 11, 2025
"All that's as plain as sunlight," said Rube. "But look at that sharp point of glass. Thar's a thread of wool caught on it yellow wool." "Ah!" exclaimed Isa Blagg. "Nick Undrell for a certainty!" "That's how I figure it out," Rube agreed. "Queer!" mused Kiddie, thrusting a finger and thumb into one of his smaller pockets.
Nick himself, with Abe Harum, was to remain in the rear, as support, while Isa Blagg and Gideon Birkenshaw were, if possible, to work their way round to the captured ponies and cut them off from the Indians, to be rounded-up after the expected fight. Gideon so far succeeded in his object as to get in advance of the Redskin rearguard.
Like a cat, too." "A cat?" "Yes," Isa Blagg nodded, "allus fell on his feet, didn't he? He allus came out on top. I never knew such a one fer turnin' up right on the spot whenever there was danger hangin' around." "Wonder where he is now?" sighed Gideon Birkenshaw. "Why, away in England, of course," drawled Isa.
Isa Blagg handed him his box, which was partly open, showing about a dozen matches with pink heads. "Ah," Kiddie nodded. "Where'd you get 'em?" "Bought 'em in Brierley's saloon in Laramie," said Isa. "Why?" "Nothing," replied Kiddie, "only they're the same sort as a broken one I found in the canoe. Chap as left that pipe must have tried to light it in a high wind.
He saw the Russian push open the door of the "Buffalo" and heard the derisive roar from within which greeted his entrance. Scenting amusement at Boris's expense, Blagg followed. When he elbowed his way through the press of fishermen who thronged the "Buffalo" bar, he saw the Russian surrounded by a jeering crowd. "Got a job yet, Boris?" some one called.
"I don't reco'nize him, nor his pony neither. It don't look as he means comin' here to our camp, or he'd sure have turned in at the new gate." "Didn't hear him crossin' the wooden bridge," said Gideon, "and his mount ain't wearin' soft moccasins." "Seems to me he's come to a halt," added Isa Blagg. There was an anxious spell of silent, watchful waiting.
Above the island and over the forest the air was sprinkled with startled birds; from the dark ravine of Laramie Pass a pair of eagles took flight. Isa Blagg drew his paddle and waved his hat. He followed Kiddie's canoe into the little bay that was its mooring place on the farther side of the island. "Located you at last!" he said, as he stepped ashore.
Each was about evenly divided, she figured, with Big Jack's constituency slightly in the lead. Blagg stepped forward and began to speak: "It's six straight for me and mine," he said. "Them's our terms. The boys can't see your new-fangled proposition at all." "It's up to you," the girl replied coolly. "If that's the way you feel, you can get your money.
"Mebbe so mebbe so," mused Gideon. "I allow it's a long, long while since I'd a letter from him not since that time when he sent me the Arab mare. Seems as if he'd clean forgotten me, though I never reckoned as Kiddie would ever forget. He ain't that sort." "Hullo!" Isa Blagg was suddenly alert. "What's that? Listen! D'ye hear it, Gid a horse gallopin' along the trail comin' this way? Listen!"
There he leaned against the bulkhead and looked back at the Red Paint. A flash of light illumined the side-walk in front of the saloon office and Blagg saw Mascola's figure silhouetted in the open doorway. He was looking up and down the street. As the fisherman drew back into the shadow the Italian disappeared to return a moment later shoving a burly figure before him.
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