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Updated: August 6, 2024
There was a moment's intense silence in the group round Bostil. Holley was never known to mistake a horse or to be extravagant in judgment or praise. "A wild stallion!" echoed Bostil. "A-huh! An' she calls him Wildfire. Where'd she get him? ... Gimme thet glass." But all Bostil could make out was a blur. His eyes were wet.
But I hold for his hosses as I would any man's." "A-huh! An' what's your kick?" "Nothin' except you could have fetched them over before the flood come down. That's all." The old horse-trader and his right-hand rider looked at each other for a moment in silence. They understood each other. Then Bostil returned to the task of pulling on wet boots and Holley went away.
Creech was no longer a friend of Bostil's, but Bostil had always been fair-minded, and now he did not allow his animosities to influence him. Holley, the veteran rider, made the sixth member of the club. Bostil had a cedar log blazing cheerily in the wide fireplace, for these early spring nights in the desert were cold. Brackton was the last guest to arrive.
She remembered the conversation between him and Creech's rider. She remembered the keen glance old Holley had bent upon him. And mostly she remembered the somber look upon his face. She did not like that. Once, when a little girl, she had seen it and never forgotten it, nor the thing that it was associated with something tragical which had happened in the big room.
H. Holley, to the Greatest Holy Leaf has been forwarded to the National Spiritual Assembly of Persia, that they may witness for themselves and share with the rank and file of the Persian believers the results of the extensive and vigorous campaign so promptly undertaken on their behalf by their sympathetic brethren in the West.
An' I'm not wantin' you to call me a liar twice. ... Put your rider up on the King an' come on, right now. I'll " "Slone, shut up an' chase yourself," interrupted Holley "You go to h l!" returned Slone, coolly. There was a moment's silence, in which Slone took Holley's measure. The hawk-eyed old rider may have been square, but he was then thinking only of Bostil.
He was, likewise, very pleased to see that the Esslingen School is going to be so well attended, and that your assembly is so wisely making this spot a rallying point for Bahá’í Youth and their friends. Upon receipt of your letter he cabled Mr. Holley to send the food parcels you required for the Summer School, and he hopes that these reach you safely.
It was characteristic of Holley that at this thrilling, tragic instant he walked over into the sage to pick up his gun. "Throwed a gun on me, got the drop, an' pitched mine away!" muttered Holley, in disgust. The way he spoke meant that he was disgraced. "My Gawd! I was scared thet Sears would get the hoss!" rolled out Bostil. Holley thought of his gun; Bostil thought of the splendid horse.
"Reckon this feller ridin' up will take down the prize money," remarked Holley, and he pointed to a man who rode a huge, shaggy, black horse and was leading Lucy's pony. "A-huh!" exclaimed Bostil. "A strange rider." "An' here comes Lucy coaxin' the stallion back," added Holley. "A wild stallion never clear broke!" ejaculated Cordts.
Up to this inning he had been insolent in his self-confidence and contempt for the visitors, but the strain now put upon him proved too much, and he hit Crane in the ribs, following with a pass to Hooker, which filled the corners. Then, amid the tumultuous cheering and laughter of the Oakdale crowd. Captain Holley sent Newbert to the bench and called Twitt Crowell forth to take his place.
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