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Updated: June 28, 2025
The ten is yours for a copy o' that telegram." The operator seized a scratch-pad, copied the telegram and cautiously "slipped" it to Mr. Hennage, who as cautiously "slipped" her the ten- dollar bill. He was rewarded for his prodigality by the following: R. P. McKeon, Mills Building, Sacramento, Calif. Advise our friend approve McGraw applications at once. Letter follows.
I wonder who could know that I might be found in San Pasqual I didn't tell anybody I was headed this way, and as a matter of fact I hadn't intended staying here beyond that first night." "Well, there's a letter there all right," reiterated Mr. Hennage, "an' if I was called on to give a guess who sent it I'd bet a stack o' blue chips I could hit the bull's eye first shot.
Upon the occasion of his last trip to the freight yards he had spied Mrs. Pennycook's brother dodging into an empty box-car. Mr. Having no money available for the blackmailer, poor Pennycook had come to Hennage to borrow it. Upon the occasion of the payment of the loan, Pennycook informed Mr. Hennage joyfully that Joe was out of the way for fifteen years and Mr.
But she knew also that never by word or sign or deed would Harley P. Hennage indicate that he had heard it. It was like him to ascribe her agitation to illness, and as she turned her heavy footsteps toward the Hat Ranch the memory of that loving lie brought the laggard tears at last, and she wept aloud.
"The sand" he muttered, blinking, and brushed his eyes with the back of his good right hand, as Sam Singer made a quick scuttering rush around the corner and retrieved the loaded gun which the gambler had taken from him and which Harley P. had dropped when O'Rourke's second bullet had shattered his left arm. Mr. Hennage saw the Indian stooping, and flapped his broken arm in feeble protest.
"I'll have to wait until the moon comes up. But I never walk home when I'm kept late. The division superintendent lends me the track-walker's velocipede and I whiz home like the limited. There isn't any danger, and if there was I could outrun it. Do you wish to register before I go, Mr. Hennage? I suppose you'll want your old room?" The gambler nodded and Donna returned to the cashier's counter.
Harley P. Hennage had at length fallen a victim to the most virulent disease in San Pasqual.
You looked a mite peaked." "Yes, yes" she whispered, clutching at this straw which he held out to her, "I'm ill. I want to go home oh, Mr. Hennage, please take me home." Mr. Hennage turned and beckoned to one of the waitresses whose duty it was, on Donna's days off, to take her place at the cash counter. As the waitress started to obey his summons, the gambler turned and spoke to Donna.
Hennage was informed by Sam Singer that his young mistress had boarded the train for Bakersfield three days previous, after informing Sam and his squaw that she would not return for two weeks. Under Mr. Hennage's critical cross-examination Soft Wind furnished the information that Donna had taken her white suit and all of her best clothes. "Ah," murmured Mr.
This wouldn't have happened. Damn dogs! They say little Donnie belongs east o' the tracks. I killed O'Rourke for thinkin' it." A knock sounded on the door, and Bob opened it, to admit Dan Pennycook. "Doc Taylor's in Bakersfield" he said. Mr. Hennage grinned. "I knew it no luck to-day" he said. "Just wipe the sand out o' my eyes, Bob an' let me kick the bucket without disturbin' nobody.
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