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Updated: May 17, 2025
"Oh, it were Brayley's, all right," McNutt retorted. "I could tell by the second-class taste o' them mellings, an' their measley little size. Them things ain't a circumstance to the kind I raise." "Are you sure?" asked Louise. "Sure's shootln'. Guess I'm a jedge o' mellings, when I sees 'em." "No one could see tonight," said Beth. "Feelin's jest the same," declared the little man, confidently.
And then, walking swiftly, Brayley came out of the trees and hurried, lurching, toward the corral. "What are you waitin' for?" he cried, sharply, when twenty paces away. "Ain't you got nothin' to do to-day?" Conniston made no answer, turning his eyes gravely upon Brayley's face, waiting for the man to come up to him. "Can't you hear?" called Brayley again, more sharply, coming on swiftly.
The custom is still observed amongst the methodists, who follow the example of their great leader, Wesley. The rust of time has, however, worn away the veneration for this "good old system," and it is totally disused by the general body of Protestants, except on great national occasions. Brayley's laboriously-compiled Londiniana possesses more than a passing interest.
"Nobody," returned Conniston, calmly. "I didn't suppose that I was to stand up and eat." Lonesome Pete's grin overran his eyes, and the ends of his fiery mustache curved upward. Two or three men laughed outright. Brayley's brows twitched into a scowling frown. "Nobody's askin' you to git funny, little rooster! You git out 'n that chair an' git out 'n it fas'. Sabe?"
The result was that the frightened brute reared, snorting, and wheeled suddenly, plunging back through the corral gate. And Lonesome Pete, taken unawares as he sat loosely in the saddle, was jerked rudely out of his dreamings of the fair Jocelyn and the bloody Macbeth to find his horse shooting out from under him, and to find himself sitting upon the hard ground with his legs in Brayley's lap.
Don't stop to saddle, but ride like the very devil out to Brayley's camp. Tell him what has happened. Tell him to rush fifty men on horseback to me. Tell him to see that each man takes two canteens full of water. And, for Heaven's sake, Billy, hurry!" Billy Jordan, terror springing up into his own eyes, sped through the door. And Conniston and Garton turned grave faces upon each other.
An' Brayley's a cheat an' a rascal, while a honester man ner me don't breathe. Nobody likes Brayley 'round Millville. Why, on'y las' winter he called me a meddler in public! an' said as I shot off my mouth too much. Me!" "How impolite." "But that's Dan Brayley. My mellings at fifty cents is better 'n his'n at fifteen." "Tell me," said Patsy, with a smile, "did you ever rob a melon-patch, Mr.
And Greek Conniston, his face still white from what he had just witnessed, began to see, although still dimly, what it was he had taken into his two hands to do. He glanced down at his hands. The middle finger of the right one, with which he had struck Brayley's heavy cheek-bone, was swollen to twice its natural size, stiff and sore. The nails were broken and blackened.
Conniston saw that they were no longer grinning, but as serious, as watchful, as Brayley's. "That was between me an' Conniston. There ain't goin' to be no makin' fun an' fool remarks about it. He done it square, an' I'm glad he done it! If there's any other man here as thinks he can do it I'll take him on right now!"
And" with a distorted grin "I'll 'scuse the left hand, Con!" Brayley and Conniston went together into the corral and picked up the three revolvers. Then Conniston turned toward the stable to get his horse. Brayley's eyes followed him, narrowing speculatively. "Hey, Conniston," he called, sharply, "where you goin'?" "To work. It's late now." "Yes, it's late, all right.
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