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You know there ain't any guy I'm scared of but I promised Hermy " "Pip-pip!" grinned Larry. "Say, if you don't turn up t'night, d'ye know what d' bunch'll say? Dey'll say you're a quitter!" "Well, don't you say it, that's all!" said Spike, laying aside his hat and clenching his fists. "Not me!" grinned Larry.
"Say, I'll slap you if you call me that again." H. J. Owens, because he did not relish the task he had undertaken, and because he had lost his bearing here in the confusion of hills and hollows and deep gullies, was in a very bad humor. "You darn pilgrim, you dassent slap me. If you do the bunch'll fix you, all right. I guess they'd just about kill you.
It's thicker'n mud, and there's a sea runnin' I won't take chances with, not while I'm sober. We may's well bunk." "Guess you're right, pardner, we better bunk. But pull farther away to the west'ard before we put on a fire," agreed Jamie's captor with evident relief. "That bunch'll be out huntin' this here kid, and they may run on to us if we camp too close to 'em."
I bet the bunch'll make you hard to ketch, you you son-agun!" "Here! You come back here, young man!" H. J. Owens reached over and caught Silver's bridle. "You don't go home till I let you go; see. You're going right along with me, if anybody should ask you. And you ain't going to talk like that either, now mind!" He turned his pale blue eyes threateningly upon the Kid.
He'll shore do it, unless I camps on th' line, which same I hain't hankerin' after." "Oh, he wouldn't stop th' cows that way, Skinny; he was only afoolin'," exclaimed Connors meekly. "Foolin' yore gran'mother! That there bunch'll do anything if we wasn't lookin'," hotly replied Skinny. "That's shore nuff gospel, Thomp. They's sore fer mor'n one thing.
"Donny, if they don't go to the house right away, you go and tell mum they're here. Chances are the whole bunch'll hang around till supper." "Say!" Gene giggled with fourteen-year-old irrepressibility. "Does anybody know where Vadnie is? If we could spring 'em on her and make her believe they're on the warpath say, I'll gamble she'd run clear to the Malad!"
He 'n' Whitty has made a race all to theirselves. It turns out to be a six mile ramble with only one entry. "I goes to the stand 'n' scratches Hamilton while he's still runnin'. The field waits at the post till they get a clear track. "'I didn't know this was a distance race, I says to Whitty when he gets down. Whitty's sore as a crab, the bunch'll mention it to him the rest of the season.
"Not another word out of you if you don't want a good thrashing. You come along and behave yourself or I'll cut your ears off." The Kid's eyes blazed with anger. He did not flinch while he glared back at the man, and he did not seem to care, just at that moment, whether he lost his ears or kept them. "You let go my horse!" he gritted. "You wait. The bunch'll fix YOU, and fix you right. You wait!"
"There ain't a soul on the joint except the judge and one old servant," growled Bill. "The rest o' the bunch'll be at the weddin' of one o' the girls. I laid low and heard 'em talkin' about it to-day. The judge's got money in the house, too. He always keeps it around, and that old Putnam place is pretty well back from the road." Grace waited to hear no more.
"Why not try Raynor's first?" and he nodded to a saloon on the adjacent corner. "Because I'm not a fool." "Bo, I ain't s' sure o' that! O'Rourke's'll be full o' tough guys t'night; all th' bunch'll be there, an' if Bud tips 'em th' say-so, they'll snuff your light out quicker 'n winkin'." "That wouldn't be such a hardship." "Oh, so that's it, hey?
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