Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 22, 2025
Beyond Annixter's, beyond Guadalajara, beyond the Lower Road, beyond Broderson Creek, on to the south and west, infinite, illimitable, stretching out there under the sheen of the sunset forever and forever, flat, vast, unbroken, a huge scroll, unrolling between the horizons, spread the great stretches of the ranch of Los Muertos, bare of crops, shaved close in the recent harvest.
Hooven, the washer replaced, turned to his work again, starting up the horses. The seeder advanced, whirring. "Ach, Hilda, leedle girl," he cried, "hold tight bei der shdrap on. Hey MULE! Hoop! Gedt oop, you." Annixter cantered on. In a few moments, he had crossed Broderson Creek and had entered upon the Home ranch of Los Muertos.
Old Broderson, in the midst of a double shuffle, had clapped his hand to his side with a gasp, which he followed by a whoop of anguish. He had got a stitch or had started a twinge somewhere. With a gesture of resignation, he drew himself laboriously out of the dance, limping abominably, one leg dragging. He was heard asking for his wife. Old Mrs. Broderson took him in charge.
"Broderson is here and Cutter," replied the Governor, "no one else. I thought YOU would bring more men with you." "There are only nine of us." "And the six hundred Leaguers who were going to rise when this happened!" exclaimed Garnett, bitterly. "Rot the League," cried Annixter. "It's gone to pot went to pieces at the first touch."
I want to ask him to dine with us to-night. Osterman and Broderson are to drop in, I believe, and I should like to have Annixter as well." Magnus was lavishly hospitable. Los Muertos's doors invariably stood open to all the Derricks' neighbours, and once in so often Magnus had a few of his intimates to dinner.
He found an aged Mexican woman by the door and hustled her, all confused and giggling, into the Virginia reel, then at its height. Every one crowded around to see. Old Broderson stepped off with the alacrity of a colt, snapping his fingers, slapping his thigh, his mouth widening in an excited grin. The entire company of the guests shouted.
Broderson, shifting uneasily in his place, fingering his beard with a vague, uncertain gesture, spoke again: "It would be the CHANCE of them our Commissioners selling out against the certainty of Shelgrim doing us up. That is," he hastened to add, "ALMOST a certainty; pretty near a certainty." "Of course, it would be a chance," exclaimed Osterman.
"Where does a railroad paper get its news? From the General Office, I suppose." "I hope he didn't get it straight from headquarters that the land was to be graded at twenty dollars an acre," murmured Broderson. "What's that?" demanded Osterman. "Twenty dollars! Here, put me on, somebody. What's all up? What did Genslinger say?" "Oh, you needn't get scared," said Annixter.
I do not know if the Railroad has a right to our lands, but I DO know that Harran is dead, that Annixter is dead, that Broderson is dead, that Hooven is dead, that Osterman is dying, and that S. Behrman is alive, successful, triumphant; that he has ridden into possession of a principality over the dead bodies of five men shot down by his hired associates. "I can see the outcome.
Gradually Osterman, by dint of his clamour, his strident reiteration, the plausibility of his glib, ready assertions, the ease with which he extricated himself when apparently driven to a corner, completely won over old Broderson to his way of thinking.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking