Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 27, 2025
"H-how'd you know it how'd you know it, Cynthy?" How did she know it, indeed? "I guessed it," said Cynthia, desperately, "knowing you, I guessed it." "A-always thought you was smart, Cynthy." "Tell me, did you do this thing?" "Th-thought you knowed it th-thought you knowed." "I believe that these men are doing your bidding." "Hain't you guessin' a little mite too much; Cynthy?"
But how you goin' to tell, in these times when our toniest fatwads is sittin' around the mahogany votin' to raise the price of chewin' gum to-day, and gettin' a free haircut to-morrow? There wa'n't any time for me to stand there guessin' whether he'd been pardoned, or had slid down the rain pipe. Somethin' had to be done, and done quick.
Why, in full daylight you almost had to look twice to see him and then you'd be guessin' whether it was a lath that had sprouted whiskers, or whiskers that was tryin' to bud a man! Them and the thick, gold-rimmed glasses sure did give him a comic, top-heavy look.
"Ye could never be guessin' half o' the sthrange adventures we'll be havin'! Like as not Sandy 'll be gettin' his hump lifted off him. I mind the story me mother often told it me. There was a humpy back in Irelan', once, who went always about wi' song in his heart an' another on his lips; an' one day he fetched up inside a faery rath.
"Looks like a pretty stiff drill up those hills," remarked Bartley. "That's why he turned, right here. 'Tain't just the stealin' of my hosses that's interestin' him. He's takin' trouble to run a whizzer on me get me guessin'. Here is where we quit trailin' him. I got my plan workin' like a hen draggin' fence rails. We ain't goin' to trail Panhandle. We're goin' to ride 'round and meet him."
Fumbling in his vest pocket, he drew out a folded slip of paper. As he unfolded it, Jim bent over and looked. "I did make a mistake," he confessed. "You sure did. It got me guessin' some for a while." "But it don't matter now," Jim cried. "Let's see what you got." "It does matter," Matt retorted. "It matters a lot ... to me. I've got to run all the risk.
Coston?" she rejoined, ignoring his compliment. "Do I remember her! The belle of fo' counties, my dear eve'ybody at her feet; five or six gentlemen co'tin' her at once; old Captain Barkeley, cross as a bear wouldn't let her marry this one or that one kep' her guessin' night and day, till one of 'em blew his brains out, and then she fainted dead away.
He left a message on the table. It wus one o' his guns loaded. Likely you won't understan', but I kep' that message. I ain't see her sence. I did hear tell she wus bakin' hash agin. I 'lows she could bake hash. Say, Tresler, I've lost hogs, an' I've lost cows, but I'm guessin' ther' ain't nothin' in the world meaner than losin' yer wife." Tresler made no reply. What could he say?
Seems like she don' know many folks." He seemed about to say more, but stopped. For a moment he obviously hesitated, then blurted out what he had in mind. "One t'ing got me guessin'," he muttered doubtfully. "Dat young lady, she don' seem t' eat nothin'!" "What do you mean?" Laurie stared at him. The boy shuffled his feet. He was on uncertain ground.
Mebbe I tink right. Squaw, Vic, squaw." The old boy chuckled heartily at his pleasantry. He was a French-Canadian half-breed and spoke with a strong foreign accent. Ambrose joined in the laugh. "Ho, Jean, man," cried the latter. "No bad blood, I'm guessin'. Ther's good thick rum, lad, an' I mind you're a'mighty partial most gener'ly."
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