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Updated: June 21, 2025
And the young stranger was staring at her, which pleased her still more. "This here hombre is Pete," said Malvey. "He left his other name to home." And he laughed raucously. Pete bowed, taking the introduction quite seriously. Boca was piqued. This young caballero did not seem anxious to know her like the other men. He did not smile. "Pete," she lisped, with a tinge of mockery in her voice.
It opened upon an immense place, where a thousand scattered lights flickered in the confused mists of night. Gringoire flew thither, hoping to escape, by the swiftness of his legs, from the three infirm spectres who had clutched him. "Onde vas, hombre?"
The loungers and hangers-on about their doors told the story. Sandwiched between two of the biggest bars, however, was a small shack the only frame building in the place. "Well, this Majah Stover hombre must be in the business," muttered The Kid to himself. His eyes had fallen on the sign over the door: MAJOR STOVER LAND OFFICE Kid Wolf was curious.
From yore story I judge you weakened when the danger was over. You gotta learn to keep up that red haid like I said. When you're scared or all in, stretch yore grin another inch. You don't need to w-worry. You're doin' all right." Bob shook his head. Blister's view encouraged him, though he could not agree with it. "Keep yore eye on that Dud Hollister hombre," the justice went on.
Johnny was seeing a real, military airplane in his possession, cached away in some niche in the lava wall to the west of Sinkhole a wall that featured queer niches and caverns and clefts. He was seeing what wonderful things was Johnny not seeing? "Like them buried treasure," Tomaso's brother went on purring comfortably to Johnny's doubts. "The hombre what finds, it belongs to him, you bet.
The hombre that throws his kak on one of them is a-goin' to do a little sky-ballin' 'fore he hits the dirt, you bet. But jest the same I'm here to bet ten to eight on him before the drawin'." Purdy who had joined the next group turned at the words. "I'll jest take that," he snapped. "Because Tex has drug down the last two buckin' contests hain't no sign he c'n go south with 'em all."
I could not help noticing the "hombre de bien" myself; and no more could I help fancying, after a short observation, that the rancho was indebted for the honour of his presence more to the black eyes of Jesusita than to any zeal on his part regarding the spiritual welfare of the contrabandista or his family.
"Señor, should you chance to see that great hombre who whipped Manuel so completely, you would do well to give the warning. Me, I heard from Ronaldo last night that Manuel spoke many threats against that gringo who had beaten him. Carlos also and I think they mean ill towards the Señor Seem'son. Me, I thought to ride that way to-morrow and give the word of warning."
The Kid, though, did not do this. "I'll just write an I O U fo' the balance," he drawled. "But supposin' yore I O U ain't good?" "Then this is good," said Kid Wolf. The gambler stared. The Texan had placed a .45 on the table near his right hand. And it had been done so quickly that the onlookers exchanged glances. Who was this hombre? "All right," growled the man in the green eye shade.
The same round jolly face, the same stout square-shouldered body, the same stubby sturdy legs, the same expression of an honest simpleton with a gift for plodding work that stamped him in advance as a steady reliable chap, an hombre de bien. And the same inside, as well! Good-natured, too good-natured if anything, and bashful!
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