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Updated: May 3, 2025
His name was Marster George Brewer an' my mammy always tol' me dat I was his'n. I knew dat dere was some dif'ence 'tween me an' de res' o' her chillun, 'cause dey was all coal black, an' I was even lighter dan I is now. Lawd, it's bean to my sorrow many a time, 'cause de chillun used to chase me 'round an' holler at me, 'Old yallow Nigger. Dey didn' treat me good, neither.
I'll serve you both the same way. Your turns 'll come after his'n." The children, aware that something unusual was going on, yet unable to comprehend what it was, stood silently around, their fingers in their mouths and their vacant eyes fixed in the stolid stare of the mountaineer youth. Even the dogs were quiet, and seemed watching the scene with more understanding than the children. Mrs.
Can you tell me how her name is Adams and his'n is Waring?" "I can!" And with a motion so swift that the marshal had no time to help himself, Bud Shoop seized the other's goatee and yanked him from the cracker barrel. "I got a job for you," said Shoop, grinning until his teeth showed.
Wearily the man followed the Old Trail toward the Matthews place, and always, as he went, in the edge of the gloomy forest, flitted that shadowy form. Preachin' Bill, says, "Hit's a plumb shame there ain't more men in th' world built like old man Matthews and that thar boy o' his'n.
Brayley says he will sell his melons for fifteen cents each." "Him! Fifteen cents!" gasped Peggy, greatly disappointed. "Say, Brayley's a disturbin' element in these parts. He oughter go to jail fer asking fifteen cents fer them mean little mellings o' his'n." "They seem as large as yours," murmured Louise. "But they ain't.
"I'll have to hear the rest about the half-breed when I get back." "There ain't no more yet. He got my cash with his private poker deck that onced, and I'm fixing for to get his'n."
Whilst I was laying sick he had been sick also, only his'n lasted much longer. But he tells me he has jest struck an idea fur a big scheme. No little schemes go fur him any more, he says. He wants money. Real money. "How you going to get it?" I asts him. "Come along and I'll tell you," he says. "We'll take a walk, and I'll show you how I got my idea."
"Reach out your hand, Ranse Truesdell," he said, "and you'll touch him. And you can shake his'n, too, if you like, for he's plumb white and there's none better in no camp." Ranse looked again at the clear-faced, bronzed, smiling cowpuncher who stood at Collins's side. Could that be Curly? He held out his hand, and Curly grasped it with the muscles of a bronco-buster.
An' Barry, he said in that quiet, firm, even voice o' his'n, 'We were like the blades of grass on the ground. So you see what th' old Seventh was up ag'inst, boys. "A mighty funny thing happened after th' talk. You all know Will Curley. He's s'posed t' be th' only survivor of Custer's men. No, I ain't sure he is. How should I know? I wasn't there, I was with Reno, two miles away.
"Jacob Faithful, why still porest thou over thy book didst thou not understand that the hours of recreation had arrived? Why risest thou not upon thy feet like the others?" "'Cause I've got no shoes." "And where are thy shoes, Jacob?" "One's in your pocket," replied I "and t'other's in his'n." Each party placed their hands behind, and felt the truth of the assertion.
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