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Updated: June 11, 2025
"What deviltry you up to now, Dud?" Blister inquired. "Me?" The young puncher looked at him with a bland face of innocence. "Why, Blister, you sure do me wrong." Dud sauntered to the hitching-rack, easy, careless, graceful. He selected a horse and threw the rein over its head. The preacher was just abreast of the hotel. The puncher swung to the saddle and brought the pony round.
McDonald remarked that it was 'a varra fortunate shot, almaist providaintial! And so it was; for if it had gone six inches lower, and the news gotten out at Bathurst, it would have cost me a fine of two hundred dollars." "Ye did weel, Dud," puffed McLeod; "varra weel indeed for the coo!"
"I'll knock together a batch of biscuits while you fry the steaks. Brace up, kid. Throw out yore chest. We better play we're drunk too," he said in a murmur that reached only Bob. While Bob sliced the steaks from the elk hanging from pegs fastened in the mud mortar between the logs of the wall, Dud was busy whipping up a batch of biscuits.
But Dud, riding by his side, held his bronco to the slow even road gait of the traveler who has many miles to cover. Apparently he had forgotten the existence of the furious, bitter men who were watching their exit from the scene. Bob set his teeth and jogged along beside him. Not till they were over the hill did either of them speak. "Wow!" grunted Dud as he wiped the sweat from his face.
"I reckon we're ready." Under orders from Elliot, Dud fixed up the smudges and arranged the mosquito netting over the bound men so as to give them all the protection possible. "We're going to take Dud with us for a part of the trip. We'll send him back to you later in the day.
Generally the sergeant and I took it in turns to pick up these 'dud' grenades as they were called. After some experience it was possible to tell the moment the grenade was thrown why it did not go off, for example the fuse might be damp and never light; or the cap might misfire; or, worst of all 'duds, the striker might stick fast through rust or dirt.
Here the intricate patchwork of railway kept the observers busy, and six more trains were bagged. Then, as this was the farthest point east to be touched, we turned to the left and travelled homeward. It was soon afterwards that our engine went dud.
"He did not," says the Buddie. "We suspect he's a dud, too." "Very serious," says Beans, shakin' his head. "Candidate, what have you to say for yourself?" To judge by the hectic tint on Hartley's neck and ears he had a whole heap he wanted to say, but for a minute or so all he can do is breathe hard and glare. He's a good deal of a sight, too.
He hesitated for a moment, and glanced at Vane, for he was by nature a man not given to speech. "Take a good battalion in France," he continued slowly. "You know as well as I do what's at the bottom of it good officers. Good leaders. . . . What makes a good leader? What's the difference between a good officer and a dud?
It was the repetition of this remark, when Dud had appeared garbed in a summer suit of spotless linen, that had precipitated yesterday's fight. Altogether, with all the restraints and interests of school time removed, vacation was proving a perilous period to the "left-overs" at Saint Andrew's.
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