United States or Norfolk Island ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
The clay had buried the spirit like a caving pit. "Twas false jewelry all right!" he roared, at the top of his voice. "A good old jimmyjohn full, boss. Say, boss, goin' to run our jimmyjohn off the ranch? Try it on, kid. Come over and try it on!" The bull beat on the table. Dean Drake had sat quickly down in his chair, his gray eye upon the hulking buccaroo.
"I've forgot something," said Half-past Full, rising. "Don't let 'em skip a course on me." Half-past left the room. "That's what I have been hoping for," said Drake to Bolles. Half-past returned presently and caught Drake's look of expectancy. "Oh no, boss," said the buccaroo, instantly, from the door. "You're on to me, but I'm on to you."
Small and dauntless he sat, a sparrow-hawk caught in a trap, and game to the end whatever end. "It's a trifle tardy to outline any policy about your demijohn," said he, seriously. "You folks had better come in and eat before you're beyond appreciating." "Ho, we'll eat your grub, boss. Sam's cooking goes." The buccaroo lurched out and away to the bunk-house, where new bellowing was set up.
Down the table some silence, some staring, much laughing went on the rich brute laugh of the belly untroubled by the brain. Sam, the Chinaman, rapid and noiseless, served the dishes. "What is it?" said a buccaroo. "Can it bite?" said another. "If you guess what it is, you can have it," said a third. "It's meat," remarked Drake, incisively, helping himself; "and tougher than it looks."
"You'll each have your turn after this week." A slight pause followed. Then Half-past Full said: "What would you do if I went, anyway?" "Can't imagine," Drake answered, easily. "Go, and I'll be in a position to inform you." The buccaroo dropped his stolid bull eyes, but raised them again and grinned. "Well, I'm not particular about goin' this week, boss."
He in a long white apron passed and re-passed with his things from his kitchen, doubly efficient and civil under stress of anxiety for his young master. In the pauses of his serving he watched from the background, with a face that presently caught the notice of one of them. "Smile, you almond-eyed highbinder," said the buccaroo. And the Chinaman smiled his best.
The buccaroo swept his cup to the ground, and the next man howled dismay. "Burn your poor legs?" said Half-past. He poured his glass over the victim. They wrestled, the company pounded the table, betting hoarsely, until Half-past went to the floor, and his plate with him. "Go easy," said Drake. "You're smashing the company's property."
He was an interesting fellow, that stage driver, who had been a buccaroo all his life and apparently knew all about the sage brush country. And when he didn't know he was not lacking in an answer. I like a man like that. Answer, I say, whether you know or not.
Half-past Full, on the other side of the sleigh, stood visibly fascinated by the wares he was given a skilful glimpse of down among the blankets. He peered and he pondered while Uncle Pasco glibly spoke to him. "Scatter your truck out plain!" the buccaroo exclaimed, suddenly. "I'm not buying in the dark. Come over to the bunk-house and scatter."
We're glad to pay for any things what got sort of broke." "Sort of broke," repeated the boy, eyeing him. "So you want to hold your jobs?" "If " began the buccaroo, and halted. "Fact is, you're a set of cowards," said Drake, briefly. "I notice you've forgot to remove that whiskey jug." The demijohn still stood by the great fireplace.
Word Of The Day