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Updated: July 11, 2025
That's French, Mandy," he added triumphantly, "an' it means a gem, a jool, an' that's what she is a regler ruby!" "It don't sound like French," said Amanda doubtfully. "That French feller," replied Nal, with the fine scorn of the Anglo- Saxon, "him as keeps the 'Last Chance' saloon, pronounces it By-Jew, but he's as ignorant as a fool, an' By-Jo seems to come kind o' nateral."
The overalls were worn so as to expose four inches of black trouser. "Ye think more of your sorrel than ye do of me, Nal." "I do?" "Yes, indeed, you do. You know you do." "I know I don't! Say I've gone an' christened the cuss." "You have?" said Mandy, in a tone of intense interest. "Tell me its name." "It's a her, Mandy, an' me an' Pete fixed on By-Jo.
Rinaldo Roberts had paid, by proxy, sixty-five dollars for the privilege of naming By-Jo as second choice to the son of Meteor. "Fifteen hunderd," mumbled the old man to himself. "Five las' night an' ten to-day. It's a sure shot, that's what it is, a sure shot. I worked him out in fifty-one seconds.
Nal removed his cap with a flourish, and Mrs. Root, a large, lymphatic, prolific female, entreated him to ascend the wagon and sit down. "You have a horse runnin', Mister Roberts?" "Yes, marm, By-Jo." "By what?" "By Diamond," replied Rinaldo, glibly, "outer Cap Wilson's old Sally. She was by " "Mis' Root didn't catch the name right," interrupted Mandy. "It's By- Jo, Mis' Root that's French."
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