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Updated: June 12, 2025
I drew an undischarged pistol from my holsters, and laying myself along my horse's neck, watched him, expecting to be the next victim; but something frightened him from his vulture-like business, and he fled in another direction.
Without a word of explanation, he bent sideways, caught her in his arms, drew her up until she was seated on the holsters strapped to a gaucho saddle, and wheeled his horse into a gallop. Filled with a grim determination, she uttered no protest. Not a syllable crossed her lips lest he should strive to amend his woeful blunder.
This she did to intimidate me; but, finding that I did not flinch an inch, nor seem to heed her hostile demonstrations, she quietly stretched out her massive arms, and lay down on the grass. My Hottentots now coming up, we all three dismounted, and, drawing our rifles from their holsters, we looked to see if the powder was up in the nipples, and put on our caps.
If the tigre attack us, as it's almost sure to do, our knives will be of little use. Viva, muschachos!" All together again lay hold of their guns; but where is the ammunition? Stowed in a pair of holsters on the pommel of Cypriano's saddle, as they well know powder, balls, percussion-caps, everything. And where is the horse himself; for, left loose, he has moved off to another part of the cavern?
The depot was locked, but again I got in by breaking a window. There were the guns as I expected five new Winchesters like Sours's. There were also a lot of cartridges, and three large six-shooters, with belts and holsters. It was half-past three by the clock, which was still going. I clicked at the telegraph instrument, but it was silent.
The man scowled at the word transportation, and his right hand went to one of the holsters, whose flap he pressed over the stud so as to lay bare the butt of the pistol within. This he drew out and cocked. "I just warn you to be civil, my fine fellow," he said.
Van Horn whirled in a flash of anger: "You talk as if you think I'd ripped it off myself." "I do think so." For one instant the two men, confronting, eyed each other, Van Horn's face aflame. Both carried Colt's revolvers in hip holsters; Van Horn's gun slung at his right hip, Laramie's slung at his left. Both were known capable of extremes. Then the critical moment passed.
Calderwood, of Coltness, travelled from Edinburgh to London in 1756, she relates in her Diary that she travelled in her own postchaise, attended by John Rattray, her stout serving man, on horseback, with pistols at his holsters, and a good broad sword by his side. The lady had also with her in the carriage a case of pistols, for use upon an emergency.
She inclined her head in acquiescence. Very slowly and with infinite caution McKay drew from their holsters beneath his armpits two automatic pistols. "Help me, Eve," he whispered. So she aided him where he lay beside her to slip the pack straps over his shoulders.
He fastens his horse to one of the drooping branches, and after removing his pistols from their holsters spreads his cloak over the heaving flanks of the heated animal. Habit is second nature, and he does not forget the good horse. He strides through the shrubberies and across Lucy's garden, crushing with his heavy boot-heel the last flower that had lingered on into the winter.
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