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Updated: May 14, 2025
Before any one else could move or speak, Lindsay's gun was out. "Easy now." His voice was a gentle drawl that carried a menace. "Lemme be boss of the rodeo a while. No, Gorilla, I wouldn't play with that club if I was you. I'm sure hell-a-mile on this gun stuff. Drop it!"
Wears two guns real low. Doncha monkey with him onless you're hell-a-mile with a six-shooter. One thousand dollars reward for arrest and conviction. Same for the big guy." "Fellow that gets one o' them rewards will earn it," said Doble grimly. "Goes double," agreed Shorty. "He'll earn it even if he don't live to spend it. Which he's liable not to." They headed their horses to the west.
"Jackpot Number Three lost a string o' tools yesterday. While they're fishin', Steelman'll be drillin' hell-a-mile. You got to sit up all night to beat that Coal Oil Johnny," one wrinkled little man said. A big man in boots laced over corduroy trousers nodded. "He's smooth as a pump plunger, and he sure has luck. He can buy up a dry hole any old time and it'll be a gusher in a week.
And, by gum, it's old hell-a-mile jes' a-hittin' his heels. Where you been at, you old skeezicks?" "How are you, Johnnie? And what are you doin' here?" The Runt was the kind of person who tells how he is when any one asks him. He had no imagination, so he stuck to the middle of the road for fear he might get lost. "I'm jes' tol'able, Clay.
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