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Updated: June 20, 2025
Mayo did not appear to notice or resent her brevity. "I took a fancy to you the minute I saw you," she said. "I can't say as much for the other Easterner that was here last year. But I made up my mind that it must be a mighty mean man who would treat you badly." Honora stood as though rooted to the pavement. She found a reply impossible.
He loved the out-of-doors side of natural history, and hoped he might be a scientist like Audubon. Roosevelt entered the Freshman class of Harvard University in 1876. It is worth while to remember that this man who became as much of a Westerner as an Easterner, who was understood and trusted by the people of the Western States, was born on the Atlantic coast and educated at a New England college.
He was a personage from Los Angeles, an Easterner who had brought an invalid wife there fifteen years earlier, had watched her miraculous return to pink plump health and become the typical California-convert. He had established a branch of his gigantic business there and himself rolled semiannually from coast to coast in his private car.
"A hundred for the sorrel and a hundred and twenty-five for the gray; is that correct?" "Yep." "And you say the gray is the best horse in the corral?" "He sure is!" "All right. I'll give you a hundred for that big bay, there. I don't want to rob you of your best horse, Wishful." Wishful saw that he was cornered. He had cornered himself, premising that the Easterner didn't know horses.
In another moment the Easterner, his arms securely pinioned, stood as before. He was breathing hard and the short struggle had heated his blood through and through. Bunker Hill had waked up. He set his teeth, resolving that they should not get another word out of him. The timekeeper raised one hand warningly.
Here was a strong, brave young Easterner, twenty years his junior, evidently as shrewd as himself more so, he feared who actually proposed a business alliance. Besides, Cowperwood, in his young, healthy, aggressive way, was like a breath of spring. "I ain't keerin' so much about the name," rejoined Laughlin. "You can fix it that-a-way if you want to.
He mounted his pony and rode toward the Flying W ranchhouse. Halfway there he passed Masten. The moon had risen; by its light he could see the Easterner, who had halted his horse and was standing beside it, watching him. Randerson paid no heed to him. "Thinkin' it over, I reckon," he decided, as he rode on.
The cowpuncher was aware that the other stirred not much, but as if he winced from a drop of cold water; he felt that he was close on the trail of the real reason why the Easterner wished to see Drew. "A story about Drew's wife?" "You read the writing on the headstone, eh?" "'Joan, she chose this place for rest," quoted Bard.
As for the Easterner, he was importuning in a voice that was not heeded: "Wait a moment, can't you? Oh, wait a moment. What's the good of a fight over a game of cards? Wait a moment " In this tumult no complete sentences were clear. "Cheat" "Quit" "He says" these fragments pierced the uproar and rang out sharply.
Cheyenne explained to Bartley that often, when riding alone, he had spent hour after hour figuring out the possibilities of gun-play, till it became evident to the Easterner that, aside from being naturally quick, there was a very good reason for Cheyenne's proficiency with the six-gun. He practiced continually.
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