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Updated: June 11, 2025
They're here at the Gadsden Purchase. Bell Applegate is sick seems to be indigestion; Espalin is having a nervous spell; and Ben Creagan is bleeding from his happiest vein. You'd better come see to 'em. Good-by!" Pringle smiled benevolently from the door. "There! I almost forgot to tell you boys. We disapprove of your actions oh-very-much!
And you have not been entirely fair with Foy, I fear.... Creagan, we'll hold you and Joe for complicity and for conspiracy in Foy's case. We'll arrest Applegate, too, when we get to camp. He'll be awfully vexed." "What!" shrieked the sheriff, raising his manacled hands. "Liar! Murderer!" "So Applegate's not dead? Well, I'm just as well pleased," said Pringle. "Not even hurt badly.
Stella Vorhis had been banished to her own room and Sheriff Matt Lisner had privately told off a man to make sure she did not escape. Lisner and Ben Creagan, crossest of the four examiners, had been prepared to meet by crushing denial an eager and indignant statement from Pringle, adducing the Gadsden House affair and his subsequent companying with Foy as proof positive of Foy's innocence.
Even the scorn of Espalin and Creagan had left him unabashed, but now he winced visibly; and, for once, he had no reply to make. Foy gasped, struggled to a sitting position, aided by his oddly assorted ministrants, gazed round in a dazed condition and lapsed back into unconsciousness.
When he came back he fell in on Foy's left; at Foy's right Creagan leaned his elbows on the bar. "Well, I'm obliged to you, boys," said Foy. "This one's on me. Come on, Joe have a hoot." "Thanks, no," said Espalin. "I not dreenkin' none thees times. Eef I dreenk some I get full, and loose my job maybe." "Vichy," said Foy. "Take something yourself, Max." As Mr.
See he's battin' his eyes and working his hands around. He sure heard the birdies sing!" "The rest of you boys had just as well go on down to the shack," directed the sheriff. "Creagan and Joe and me will take care of Foy till he's able to move or be moved, and bring him into camp. You just lead up our three horses and an extra one for Foy up as far as you can fetch 'em.
See, here comes some more pussy-foot posse three, six, eleven hungry men. Have they got Foy? No; they have not got Foy. Is he up? He is up. Look who's here too! Good old Applegate and Brother Espalin. I wonder now if they're goin' to give me the cut direct, like Creagan did? You notice, Mr. Breslin." The horsemen rode into the corral. "No; don't go, Sheriff," said Anastacio.
"You don't mean to tell me there's any danger of anything like that?" said Breslin, staggered and aghast. "Every danger. That's an old gag the ley fuga." "You lie!" bawled Creagan. His six-shooter covered Anastacio. "That'll keep. Put up your gun, Bennie," said Anastacio with great composure. "Supper's most ready. Besides, the Barelas won't like it if you shoot me this way.
That'll keep the wolf from the well-known door for quite a while." "You won't touch a cent of it!" declared the sheriff. "Won't I though? We'll see about that. I captured him alone, didn't I? Oh, I reckon I'll finger the money, alrighty!" "Here, fellows; give him a bait of whisky," said Creagan. Breslin, kneeling at Foy's side, took the extended flask.
Heavy-complected, broad-shouldered, dark blond, very tall and slender, weighs about a hundred and ninety, with a pale skin and a hollow-cheeked, plump, serious face?" At this ill-timed and unthinkable levity Breslin stared in bewilderment; Lisner glared, gripping his fist convulsively; and Mr. Ben Creagan, an uneasy third inquisitor, breathed hard through his nose.
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