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The ball rolled into it, but jumped the compartment, wizard-wise, and dropped into single-o. Bolles cursed the luck. Another whisky was placed at his elbow. He drank it at a gulp. "Make the limit five," he cried. The banker nodded to the man at the wheel. Bolles made six bets. He lost them. A quarter of an hour later his entire winnings had passed over the table.
That night I ran into Bolles. ... Well, he uttered a vile insult, and I all but throttled him. Here's my hand, Dick." The hand-grip that followed drew a gasp from Warrington. "Not every man would be so good about it, John. What shall we do about McQuade?" "I was about to say that I shall see McQuade within an hour," in a tone that did not promise well for McQuade. "Wait a day or two, John.
Bolles ducked, and bullets grooved the spraying snow. They rounded a corner and saw the crowd jumping into the corral, and Sam's door empty of that prudent Celestial. "He's a very wise Chinaman!" shouted Drake, as they rushed. "What?" screamed Bolles. "Very wise Chinaman. He'll break that stove now to prove his innocence." "Who did you say was innocent?" screamed Bolles.
It's my deal now, and I have some jokers myself. Go to sleep, Bolles. We've a ride ahead of us." The boy rolled himself in his blanket skillfully. Bolles heard him say once or twice in a sort of judicial conversation with the blanket "and all in the house but we were not all in the house. Not all. Not a full house " His tones drowsed comfortably into murmur, and then to quiet breathing.
And to their amazement he sped past them, never slacking his horse's lope until he reached the corral. There he tossed the reins to the placid Bolles, and springing out like a surefooted elephant, counted his saddle-horses; for he was a general. Satisfied, he strode back to the crowd by the demijohn. "When dem men get restless," he explained to Drake at once, "always look out.
If I win out, on my word of honor, I'll do something for you." "You aren't afraid of McQuade?" anxiously. "My dear Mr. Osborne, I am not afraid of the Old Nick himself. I'll give this man McQuade the biggest fight he has ever had. Bolles will have his pains for nothing. Any scandal he can rake up about my past will be pure blackmail; and I know how to deal with that breed."
Glancing from him to his late station I perceived a little group of skaters gathered around my son and heir, who was dabbling with a stick in the abandoned hole. They appeared to be diverted by something and one of them, my friend Harry Bolles, who had his handkerchief up to his mouth, made a bee-line to meet me. Not a word, mark you.
He was a tall, lean man with a red handkerchief tied around his neck, with a queue of red hair hanging down his back, and with copper buckles on his shoes, so that Barnaby True could not but suspect that he was the very same man who had given the note to Miss Eliza Bolles at the door of his lodging-house.
"I'll lend you a real one when we get to the Malheur Agency. But you can eat, anyhow. Christmas being next week, you see, my programme is, shoot all A.M. and eat all P.M. I wish you could light on a notion what prizes to give my buccaroos." "Buccaroos?" said Bolles. "Yep. Cow-punchers. Vaqueros. Buccaroos in Oregon. Bastard Spanish word, you see, drifted up from Mexico.
"Where is he now?" "Up stairs playing the wheel." Ben shook his head. He had his salary in his pocket, and he vividly remembered what roulette had done to it a fortnight gone. "If Bolles is drunk, it wouldn't do any good to talk to him." Ben sighed and drank his liquor neat. He was tired. Regularly once a week Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene visited a hair-dresser.
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