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Updated: May 8, 2025
"May I ask what you intend to do with me?" asked Westerfelt, indifferently. The leader laughed. "Put some turkey red calico stripes on that broad back o' yorn, an' rub in some salt and pepper to cuore it up. We are a-gwine to l'arn you that new settlers cayn't run this community an' coolly turn the bluecoats agin us mount'in folks." Westerfelt looked down on the masks upturned to him.
I'd ruther have 'em stick a speer through my side time an' time agin 'an have it go on with Sally like it is. You'd better do what I ask, fer it's makin' a reg'lar devil out o' me. I feel it comin' on, an' I won't be fit fer no place but hell fire. I jest cayn't see no sense, jestice, nur reason in my pore little child lyin' in her bed an' twistin' with sech trouble.
He's took my side always. Y'see, I aint got no people an' I just ride araoun'. Y'see," Piney quivered with boyish fire, "I just got to ride araoun'. I cayn't stay on no farm an' in no haouse. Kills me. I got to git to the woods an' the hills. An' Unc' Bernique he stands by me, an' keeps me in his shack whend they's any trouble abaout it. Y'see, some people think I oughter oughter work!"
What's more, he'll never leave here alive, except with irons on his wrists!" "Have you a warrant for my arrest, Mr. Healy?" inquired Keller evenly. "Don't need one. Furthermore, I'd as lief take you in dead as alive. You cayn't hide behind a girl's skirts this time," continued Healy. "You've got to stand on your own legs and take what's coming. You're a bad outfit.
They're going to rustle us some white men's clothes, too, but we cayn't wear them till we get out of town on account of showing our handsome faces." "What about horses?" "Denver is rustling some for us. Y'u better be scribbling your billy-doo to the girl y'u leave behind y'u, seh." "Haven't y'u got one to scribble?" Bannister retorted. "Seems to me y'u better get busy, too."
It's de way er de sect. A man what cayn't be jocalder with 'em, he hain't no show." "What dis hyer claim agentin' I's hearin' so much talk about?" he enquired of a group one morning. "What I wants is ter get inter de innards of de t'ing, an' den I'se gwine to claim sump'n fer myse'f.
March, this is Lover's Leap! We cayn't neveh climb up here!" "We've got to! D' you reckon I brought you here to look at it? Come on. We've only got to reach that last cedar yonder by the dead pine." The mulatto moaned, but they climbed. As they rose the black gorge seemed to crawl under them and open its hungry jaws. "Great Lawd! Mr. March, this is sut'n death! Leas'wise it is to me.
Well, he's give up that notion, and now he thinks, dad gum it, that it's up to him to surrender to Brandt again." The girl's eyes were like stars. "And he's going to go back there and give himself up, to be tried for killing Faulkner." Dillon scratched his head. "By gum, gyurl, I didn't think of that. We cayn't let him go." "Yes, we can." "Why, honey, he didn't kill Faulkner, looks like.
Johanna's modest smile glittered across her face as she slowly replied, "No-o, seh, I cayn't 'zac'ly fine myseff ama-aze', 'caze Miss Barb done wrote about it in her letteh." "Psheh!" said John, playing incredulous, "you ain't got air letter from Miss Barb." The girl was flattered to ecstasy.
Two six-pane windows flanked the front door. The room was empty, except for the three men now entering. "You live here, Shorty?" asked Crawford curtly. "Yes." The answer was sulky and reluctant. "Alone?" "Yes." "Why?" snapped the cattleman. Shorty's defiant eyes met his. "My business." "Mine, too, I'll bet a dollar. If you're nestin' in these hills you cayn't have but one business." "Prove it!
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