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Updated: September 28, 2025
"Can't spare you today," said Knowles, his keen eyes fixed on Ashton in unconcealed amazement. It was inconceivable. For the first time in his career as an employé, the tenderfoot was attempting to evade a duty, a duty that comprised a fifty-mile ride in company with Miss Isobel Knowles! The girl looked at Ashton with a perfect composure that betrayed no trace of her feelings.
I suggested that another carriage should be put on, but he had none, nor any solution to offer; so we cleared a second-class compartment and divided the party out, and then, with five people in our tiny compartment, we set out on the fifty-mile run to Udaipur.
And old George, he'll go back a fifty-mile ride, but what's that on a good horse? He'll be late home, but he can cross the rock ford the short way over the creek. I can see him turn his horse loose at the garden-gate, and walk through the quinces that lead up to the cottage, with his saddle on his arm. Can't I see it all, as plain as if I was there?
"Oh, prob'ly not," said Uncle Peabody. "Back east they's more Fullertons than ye could shake a stick at. Say, I see the biggest bear this mornin' that I ever see in all the born days o' my life. "It was dark. I'd come out o' the fifty-mile woods an' down along the edge o' the ma'sh an' up into the bushes on the lower side o' the pastur.
They were caked with the dust of their fifty-mile ride, but after they had washed and eaten, Yeager had a long talk with them. He learned, among other things, that Healy had telephoned Sheriff Gill that Keller was lying wounded at Seven Mile, and that the sheriff was expecting to follow them in a few hours.
Squall followed squall in ever-closer succession, the uproar changing constantly from the shriek of the hundred-mile wind in the squall to the dull roar of the fifty-mile wind in between. The thunder crackled, without any after-rumble, and the trembling of the ground could be felt from the pounding of the terrific waves half a mile away.
Soot-begrimed, strangling, and with streaming eyes, they emerged, five minutes later, from the cloud of smoke. From his pocket the Unspeakable Perk dragged forth his white gloves. The action attracted his companion's attention. "Good Lord!" he cried. "What has happened to your hands?" "They're blistered." "Stripped, rather. They look as if you'd fallen into a fire, or rowed a fifty-mile race.
"That's Fremont's Buttes," the Indian said presently, pointing to a flat-topped hill that towered above the others ahead. "Why, I thought you said it was a fifty-mile ride to-day, Jerry, and we can't have gone more than half that." "How far do you suppose that hill is off?" "Three or four miles, I should think." "It is over twenty, lad.
Early one bright November morning I started down there on foot to make arrangements with a ranchman to look after them. The air was so bracing and stimulating to the energies that I felt as if a fifty-mile walk would be mere recreation.
He had evidently concluded his conversation with the postmaster and now was bearing down majestically upon me, like a ten thousand ton steamer on a porgie schooner. "Hey, you Ros!" he roared. He was at my elbow, but he roared just the same. Skipper of a coaster in his early days, he had never outgrown the habit of pitching his voice to carry above a fifty-mile gale. "Hey, Ros.
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