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Updated: June 11, 2025
Let me spell it out for you in words of two cylinders, Breslin: You saw that I knew Creagan and Applegate, while they positively refused to know me at any price; you heard the sheriff deny that I was at the Gadsden House before I'd claimed anything of the sort.
Applegate and Creagan tell it that they saw Chris leaving town at eleven o'clock, that he said he was coming up here, and that he made a war-talk about Marr. But not a word about Pringle or the fight at the hotel. Joe Espalin doesn't appear no claim that he saw Foy at all." "That looks ugly," observed Pringle. "Ugly! Your testimony is to be thrown out as a lie made of whole cloth.
"I'm anxious to see if those two will recognize Ananias the Amateur. They'll be here directly. You, either, Creagan. Else I'll shoot you both in the back, accidentally, cleaning my gun." From without was the sound of spurred feet in haste; three men appeared at the open door. "Why, if it ain't George! Good old George!" cried Pringle, rising with outstretched arms. "And my dear friend Espalin!
Simultaneously Pringle's tilted chair came down to its four legs and Pringle sat poised, his weight on the balls of his feet, ready for a spring. The sheriff paused midway of a step; his mottled face grew ashen. A gurgle very like a smothered chuckle came from Anastacio. Creagan flung himself into the breach. "Aw, Matt, let's have the girl in here.
That no such accusation came from Pringle set these able but mystified deniers entirely at a loss, left the denial high and dry. Creagan mopped his brow furtively. "Vorhis," said Sheriff Matt, red and angry from an hour's endeavor, "I think you're telling a pack of lies every word of it. You know mighty well where Foy is." The Major's gray goatee quivered.
"There has been a time when you might not have fancied this particular bunch hey? All over now, please the pigs. Come in and give it a name. Beer for mine." "I'll smoke," said Foy. "Me too," said Espalin. He lit a cigar and returned to his chair. Ben Creagan passed behind the bar and handed over a sixshooter and a cartridge belt. "Here, Chris here's the gun I borrowed of you when I broke mine.
Duty and inclination thus happily wedded, Pringle set himself to goad ferret-eyed Creagan and the heavy-jawed sheriff into unwise speech. And inattentive Anastacio had a shrewd surmise at Pringle's design. He knew nothing of the fight at the Gadsden House, but he sensed an unexplained tension and he knew his chief.
You tell him he's under arrest for carryin' concealed weapons. You and Ben grabbed his arm; he jerked loose and went after his gun. And then Joe shot him." "That's it. We'll all stick to that. S-st! Here they come!" There are men whose faces stand out in a crowd, men you turn to look after on the street. Such quite apart from his sprightly past was Christopher Foy, who now entered with Creagan.
I'm growing younger every year, I don't own any property here, I'm not going to be married; I ain't feeling pretty well anyhow; and if you don't think I'll shoot, try to get up! Just look as if you thought you wanted to wish to try to make an effort to get up." "How who " began Creagan; but Pringle cut him short. "Ask me no more, sweet! You have no speaking part here. We'll do the talking.
"Perhaps he was one." By COURTNEY RYLEY COOPER and LEO. F. CREAGAN From American Magazine The entrance of Martin Garrity, superintendent of the Blue Ribbon Division of the O.R.& T. Railroad, had been attended by all the niceties of such an occasion, when Martin, grand, handsome, and magnificent, arrived at his office for the day.
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