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Updated: June 25, 2025
"If you was to spend all the rest o' your life, sir, making shots at it, you wouldn't never get nigher than that." "The young scoundrel! Then you know where the cartridges are?" "Course I do, sir: under the battened down hatches yonder. Frenchy put 'em there himself, and wouldn't let no one go nigh 'em, 'cause the fellows were always smoking.
"Ziss how you call can ze Kaiser?" he would inquire politely. "That means putting him in a tin can," said Tom. "Ze tin can? Ze how you call wipe ze floor wiz him?" "They both mean the same thing," said Tom. "They mean beating him good and thorough kind of." Frenchy did not seem to understand but he would wave his hands and say with great vehemence, "Ah, ze Kaiser, he must be defeat! Ze wretch!"
The fate of Frenchy Virat, the fate of the Wolf, and, added to this, the Gray Seal's intervention in the plans and purposes of one Gentleman Laroque and certain gentlemen still higher up than Laroque, had not passed unmarked or unnoticed in the underworld. And now in the underworld a strange, ominous and far-reaching disquiet reigned.
The seats were filling rapidly, and the outfit went along the ground looking for friends. A bugle sounded and a hush swept over the crowd as the announcement was made for the first event. "Broncho-busting-Red Devil, never ridden: Frenchy McAllister, Tin-Cup, Montana; Meteor, killed his man: Skinny Thompson, Bar-20, Texas; Vixen, never ridden: Lefty Allen, O-Bar-O, Texas."
"So long," replied Frenchy, who turned toward the south and departed for the ranch. The foreman of the Bar-20 was cleaning his rifle when he heard the hoof-beats of a galloping horse and he ran around the corner of the house to meet the newcomer, whom he thought to be a courier from the Double Arrow. Frenchy dismounted and explained why he returned alone.
Red turned around again. "Better come up an' have somethin'," he sympathetically invited, wiping away an imaginary tear. "An' he's so young!" sobbed Frenchy. "An' so fair!" wailed Tex. "An' so ornery!" howled Lefty, throwing his arms around the discomfited youngster.
"Gee, it feels funny," he added, grinning as he pulled the wet shirt away from his spine. "Well, I've got to be amblin'," said Frenchy, totally ignoring the loss of his hat. "Goin' down to Buckskin," he offered, and then asked, "When's yore cook comin'?" "Day after to-morrow, if he don't get loaded," replied Tex. "Who is he?" "A one-eyed Mexican Quiensabe Antonio." "I used to know him.
She had turned off the trail, and in places they were very clear. "She had on high-heeled shoes, Kent those Frenchy things and I swear her feet can't be much bigger than a baby's! I found where Kedsty caught up with her, and the moss was pretty well beaten down. He returned through the poplars, but the girl went on and into the edge of the spruce. I lost her trail there.
It's Frenchy and his gang come back." For a few seconds there was a dead silence, and no one stirred. Then, as if electrified, I ran half-way down the ladder, and leaped the rest of the way, dashed through the saloon to Mr Brymer's cabin, seized his glass, and ran back with it and up on to the poop-deck.
VI. "The more I see of that girl, the more I think of her. Those Frenchy touches of dress and that superb red hair make her beautiful. I always did like red hair. Honestly, I think she's the prettiest girl I ever saw. And her womanliness matches her beauty. Any man might be proud of winning a girl like that. VII. "The irony of Fate!
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