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Updated: June 6, 2025
Then again I may wear it to a fancy-dress ball sometime. In that case I shall stencil Pike's Peak or Bust! on the sidebreadth and go as a prairie schooner. If I can succeed in training a Missouri hound-dog to trail along immediately behind me the illusion will be perfect. After these two experiences with the English tailor I gave up.
The tramp leaning against the wall saw the brute coming a mongrel hound-dog, bristling and savage. The shotgun stood almost within the man's reach a step and it was in his hands. As though sensing the fellow's intentions the dog wheeled from the tramp upon the floor, toward whom he had leaped, and sprang for the other ragged scoundrel. The muzzle of the gun met him halfway.
'Here, stop it, you little vixen! He caught one of her hands, but the other was too quick for him. 'Give over tormenting of it, then! The hedgehog rolled on the floor, and the foxhound came and sniffed it. Reddin had her other hand now. 'What d'you mean by it? he asked, very angry, and tingling about the ears. 'Leave it be! It's done you no harm. Lookee! The hound-dog! she cried.
The hound-dog came up and sat down to kick a patch of flea-invaded territory which lay behind his left ear. Again the morning was quiet. But not for long. A mud-spattered car came around the bend in the road and headed at Val, going a good pace for the dirt surfacing. Before it quite reached him it stopped and the driver stuck his head out of the window. "Hey, you, move over!
He pulled her on to his knee and kissed her. 'Send the hound-dog out, then.
Go after it, you hound-dog!" Lanpher was not inordinately brave. He would go out of his way to avoid an appeal to lethal weapons. But Racey's words were more than he could stand. His hand jerked sidewise and down toward the sixshooter in the open drawer. Bang! Shooting from the hip Racey drove an accurate bullet through the manager's right forearm. Lanpher grunted and gurgled with pain.
You can't have the bottom knocked out of your world, naturally, and find an invisible Nero blithely fiddling on your heart-strings. And I hated to see Dinky-Dunk sitting there with that dead look in his eyes. I hated to see him with his spirit broken, with that hollow and haggard misery about the jowls, which made me think of a hound-dog mourning for a dead master.
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