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Updated: May 14, 2025
It was midnight when the circulator of The Chieftain engaged for that important day only burst out of the tent with an armful of papers, crying them in a voice that would have been red if voices had been colored in Comanche, it was so scorched from coming out of the tract which carried liquor to his reservoir. "Ho-o-o! Git a extree! Git a extree! All about the mistake in the winner of Number One!
She never had betrayed to him so much distress as filled her face now. "De man what kill' him git away! You t'ink I git marrie' while dat man alive? Ho-o-o! You t'ink I let Marguerite see me do dat! Ah! naw!" She waved him away and turned to leave the spot, but he pressed after, and she paused once more. A new possibility lighted his eyes. He said eagerly: "Describe the man to me. Describe him.
A loud "Ho-o-o" of approbation reverberated from the edge of the forest upon the Minnesota's bank. Half frightened, the little fellow was now brought into the circle, looking very much as if he were about to be executed. Cheer after cheer went up for the awe-stricken boy. Chankpee-yuhah, the medicine-man, proceeded to confer the name. Be brave, be patient and thou shalt always win!
It begins, dozingly and dully, with a few sacks of corn; starts into a surprising collection of boots and shoes; goes brawling down the hill in a diversified channel of old cordage, old iron, old crockery, old clothes, civil and military, old rags, new cotton goods, flaming prints of saints, little looking-glasses, and incalculable lengths of tape; dives into a backway, keeping out of sight for a little while, as streams will, or only sparkling for a moment in the shape of a market drinking- shop; and suddenly reappears behind the great church, shooting itself into a bright confusion of white-capped women and blue- bloused men, poultry, vegetables, fruits, flowers, pots, pans, praying-chairs, soldiers, country butter, umbrellas and other sun- shades, girl-porters waiting to be hired with baskets at their backs, and one weazen little old man in a cocked hat, wearing a cuirass of drinking-glasses and carrying on his shoulder a crimson temple fluttering with flags, like a glorified pavior's rammer without the handle, who rings a little bell in all parts of the scene, and cries his cooling drink Hola, Hola, Ho-o-o! in a shrill cracked voice that somehow makes itself heard, above all the chaffering and vending hum.
All of Clump's spirit was aroused, and he stammered as he replied "No, mon; n-o-o-o! We dussen keeps no ho-o-o hotel 'ere, we dussen. You'se find tabben ober end de town. Dis am Massa Tre-gel Tre-gel Massa Tregellin's privet mansion." "Ho! ho!" answered the man, slapping his hat down on his head and spitting again. "Massa Tregellin's house, is it?
It was the same room he had been in before, and he remembered its every detail. Suddenly he pushed the evil of those recollections aside and called again "Ho, Jess! Ho-o-o!" But the confidence had gone from his tone, and his call suggested an underlying doubt. Again came the echoes. Again they died. Then yes there was a sound that had nothing to do with echoes. Again yes sure.
"O Peetoot!" exclaimed Edith, in a remonstrative tone, as the sledge swayed to and fro with the rate at which they were sweeping over the plain, "don't drive so fast; you will kill the poor dogs!" "Ho! ho! ho-o-o! Eeduck!" roared the boy, aiming a shot at the leader's left ear, and bringing the thick end of the whip down on the flanks of the six hindmost dogs.
At last there was a symptom of returning vitality in the poor youth's frame, and the negro redoubled his efforts. "Ho! hallo! Massa Leo, wake up! You's dyin', you is!" "Why what's the matter Butterf " muttered Leo, and dropped his head again. "Hi! hello! ho-o-o!" yelled Butterface, renewing the rough treatment, and finally hitting the youth a sounding slap on the ear. "Ha!
Th' dongola is some foreign kind of a goat, Dugan." "Ho, ho-o-o!" cried Toole, suddenly, knocking on his forehead with the knuckles of his fist. The three men turned their eyes upon him and stared. "What ails ye now, Mike?" asked Dugan, disgustedly. "Ho-o-o!" he cried again, slapping himself on the top of his head. "Me mind is comm' back t' me, Dugan!
He suddenly gave vent to a yell so appalling that the very executioner, accustomed though he was to such sounds, quailed for a moment, and said anxiously "Did I hit you too hard?" "Hard!" echoed Baba, mingling a roar of laughter with his next yell. "Fear not, good comrade; go on, do thy duty ha! ha! ho-o-o! Stop!
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