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Updated: June 2, 2025
Thin shplit, an' hug th' line west, yu', Yorkey as far as Coalmore yu', Ridmond back tu Cow Run. Yez know fwhat tu du. Pass up nothin' culverts, bridges, section-huts anywhere's th' shtiff may be hidin'. If yez du not dhrop onto um betune thim tu places shtay fwhere yez are an' search all freights. 'Phone th' agent at Davidsburg if yez want tu get me. I'm away from there now to wire east an' west.
Da ." The oath died on his lips and he remained staring at the hobo as a sudden thought struck him. His gaze flickered to Yorke's face, and his subordinate nodded comprehensively. Slavin beckoned to Lee. "Take um inside the hotel parlour, Nick," he ordered, "fwhere we hild coort this mornin. Yorkey, yu' go an' hunt up Mr. Gully. I don't think he's pulled out yet, has he, Nick?"
Mighty chipper gossoon, tu. 'Teamster? sez I 'Some! sez he, as if he was a reg'lar gun at th' business 'but I'm gen'rally reckoned handier wid a foursome 'n a single team." "'Oh! sez I, 'fwhere? An' he tould me Regina. Sez I thin ''tis Skinner Adams's undershtudy ye must have bin? for he was Reg'mentil Teamster Sarjint there, an' sure fwas a great man wid a four-in-hand team."
A man that gits only one from it won't need nothin' more'n a head stone and his name crossed offen the roster. Git a good squint at him through them sights, jest be low his belt, hold stiddy while you pull the trigger, and his name 'll be mud." "But fwhere is the powdher to make the ball go?" persisted Barney, looking at the cartridge which Shorty had put in his hand.
"Just that one round gone." "Nothin doin' agin'," muttered Slavin disappointedly. He broke the gun and, ejecting the shells put all in his pocket. He then turned to Moran. "D d good job for yu' havin' this alibi, Mister Windy!" he growled, "don't seem anythin' on yu' over this killin' as yet! But yez are goin' tu get ut fwhere th' bottle got th' cork for this other bizness, me man!"
Oi wud do betther to whack a man wid a shillelah. And fwhere is the flint to stroike foire?" "O, the flintlock's played out, you flannel-mouthed Irishman," said Shorty irritably. "It's as out-of-date as a bow and arrer. This's a percussion-lock; don't you understand? This is a cap. You stick it right on this nipple, an' when the hammer goes down off goes your gun. Don't you see?"
"Fwhy thin, miss, 'twas to a brother o' my own I was bringing it, that was livin' down the counthry here, an' fwhin I came to fwhere he lived, the sarra one o' me knew the place, in regard o' havin' forgotten the name of it entirely, an' there was I wit the poor crathur an my hands, till his haner here bought it from me Gad bless you, sir!"
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