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Updated: June 7, 2025
Rawhide country. Lost Trail. "A short-grass range, but rich," Lone Star had said "an honest-to-God country, bigger'n all creation." I turned to Mr. West and faced him squarely. "Has it got water?" He smiled at the sudden vehemence of the question and was ready for it. "Yes, it has water. The finest in the world."
"It certainly is as good gold as ever went into the mint," he assured. "All laid in a nice little nest on this shelf of rock. I've heard of such things up in this country, but I never ran into one before and I've always taken this pocket theory with a grain of salt. But there you are. That's a real, honest-to-God pocket. And a well-lined one, if you ask me.
Raymond is lavish with tips, or the human touch, for his goings and comings are meat to that kid. "He told me I had better hustle, for at four-thirty every day Mr. Raymond beat it! The boy was an artist in word-painting. He described my man as a real toff, none of your little yappers. He's going to haul in the pile and playing honest-to-God fair, too!" Joan burst out laughing.
"Before you do any explainin' mebbe you'd better guess who it is that's goin' to send yore cowardly soul to hell inside of five minutes." "If you're some kin to that gal on the hawss with me, why, I'll tell you the honest-to-God truth. I was aimin' to save her from the 'Paches when I got a chanct. Come on down an' let's we-uns talk it over reasonable."
'There are no troops back here for ten miles, answered Dick. The American took off his helmet and wiped his brow. 'Jumping Jehosophat! he exclaimed ruefully, 'do I have to marathon ten miles and back? They sure are generous with exercise in the army. Say, you guys if you're on the level about being stragglers, and want a real honest-to-God showdown scrap, you hike over that bridge.
I reckon that we haven't so much an idea about sanctuaries of ours as that we are cultivating an honest-to-God determination to keep from making wrecks of women's shrines. I know this sounds blithering, but, you see, a decent chap wants to ask some girl to give him a better thing than forgiveness when the time comes. He wants to cut out the excuse business.
"It's pumpin' water in place of blood right now, I'll bet. Did you ever have a real honest-to-God lickin' when you was a boy?" The New Yorker knew he was helpless before this clear-eyed, supple athlete who walked like a god from Olympus.
"Well, my honest-to-God name is Sarah Nevada Montague; Sarah for Ma and Nevada for Reno where Ma had to stop off for me she was out of the company two weeks and if you ever tell a soul I'll have the law on you. That was a fine way to abuse a helpless baby, wasn't it?" "But Sarah is all right. I like Sarah." "Do you, Kid?" She patted his hand. "All right, then, but it's only for your personal use."
"A real, honest-to-God railroad going by within a hundred miles of our shack. Three years. It'll be there before we know it. We'll have neighbors to burn." "A hundred miles!" Hazel laughed. "Is that your idea of a neighborly distance?" "What's a hundred miles?" he defended. "Two days' ride, that's all.
I don't see how people can live, huddled up with somebody on every quarter-section." "Where are you going now?" "Goin' to an honest-to-God range country," he said. "A short-grass country, but rich feed. You can get away from landgrabbers there. It's bigger'n all creation." "Where shall I send the paper?" "Wyoming. The Rawhide country. Just send the paper to Lost Trail. I'll be goin' on there.
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