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Updated: June 1, 2025
"How do you make that out?" coolly. "Do you know where your man Bolles can be found?" "Bolles? Ah, I begin to see. What do you want of him?" "We want the esteemed honor of his company at this reunion," dryly. Bolles? McQuade smiled. He was only too glad to accommodate them. If they wanted Bolles they should have him. Bolles would cut them in two.
We all commit blunders at one time or another, and McQuade had just committed his. "That's all, Morrissy. I think I can trust you fully. I mean no harm, boy; 'tis only self-preservation." "Oh, so long as your name's on it there's no kick coming from me; only I never saw you do such a fool thing before. Anything else to-day?" "No. You might keep tab on that fool Bolles.
Morrissy's glance, somewhat bewildered, traveled from face to face. On entering he had seen only McQuade's tranquil visage. He sat down, disturbed and mystified. "What's this?" Morrissy demanded to know. "Hanged if I know!" said McQuade. "These two gentlemen presented themselves a few moments ago and requested me to send for Bolles. Have a cigar."
This collection is an education in the French decorative arts. Then, too, there is the Bolles collection of American furniture presented to the museum by Mrs. Russell Sage. I have no quarrel with the honest dealers who are making fine and sincere copies of such furniture, and selling them as copies.
The young superintendent set at work to ranch-work this afternoon of Brock's leaving, and the buccaroos made his acquaintance one by one and stared at him. Villany did not sit outwardly upon their faces; they were not villains; but they stared at the boy sent to control them, and they spoke together, laughing. Drake took the head of the table at supper, with Bolles on his right.
Instantly all the war that was in his soul saw an outlet. He came back, swift as a panther and as powerful. In an instant his assailant was on his back on the pavement, the strong fingers tightening about the wretch's throat; Bolles was a powerful man, but he had not the slightest chance. Not a sound from either man.
Bolles looked back at the dusk from which the yells were sounding, then forward to the spreading skein of night where the trail was taking him and the boy, and in neither direction could he discern cause for gayety. "May I ask where we are going?" said he. "Away," Drake answered. "Just away, Bolles. It's a healthy resort." Ten miles were travelled before either spoke again.
"Five hundred now, and five hundred on Monday. I can see him sending a check. It will be bills. Bah! I should have called out the boys anyhow." McQuade hurried home. He had another appointment, vastly more important than the one he had just kept. Bolles had returned from New York. It was easy enough to buy a labor union, but it was a different matter to ruin a man of Warrington's note.
"Not going to wring your neck, and that's enough for the present. Faster, Uncle. Get a gait on. Bolles, here's Baby Bunting. Much obliged to you for the loan of it, old man." Uncle Pasco's eye fell on the 22-caliber pistol. "Did you hold me up with that lemonade straw?" he asked, huskily. "Yep," said Drake. "That's what." "Oh, hell!" murmured Uncle Pasco.
McQuade knocked the ashes from his cigar, contemplated the coal, and returned it to the corner of his mouth. Ah! The three men heard steps in the hall. The door to the outer office opened and banged. But the man who squeezed past Bennington was not Bolles. "Morrissy?" cried Warrington. "Fine! Have a chair, Mr. Morrissy, have a chair." Warrington was delighted.
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