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Updated: June 24, 2025
"You mustn't come no more, though, Mr. Joses, you mustn't. If anything was to 'appen to you in my place I should never forgive meself. 'Tain't so much the compensation to your widows and such. It's here" he thumped his heart "I'd feel it." Joses began to make excuse, but the old man refused to be convinced. "Rogues and rasqueals, Mr. Joses," he cried.
"Where did he spring from?" asked Joses, and began to move toward the jockey. His companion stayed him suddenly. Billy Bluff, who had evaded the police, and dodged his way into the Paddock, raced up to the jockey and began to squirm about him, half triumphant, half ashamed. The fat man stopped dead and stared, with his bulging eyes. "Straight!" he cried, and smote his hands together.
Sebastian Bach Joses was the son of an artist of Portuguese extraction. The artist was a waster and a wanderer. In his youth he mated with a Marseillaise dancing-girl who had posed as his model. Joses had been the result. The father shortly deserted the mother, who took to the music-hall stage. After a brief and somewhat lurid career on the halls in London and elsewhere she died.
The remains of the two poor fellows, Juan and Sam, were buried more carefully, with a few simple rites, and then, saddened and weary, the Doctor turned to seek Maude. Bart was about to follow him, when Joses took him by the sleeve. "I wouldn't say anything to the master, but I must tell you." "Tell me what?" "About the explosion, Master Bart." "Well, I saw it," said Bart.
Four times over, as the hunting party advanced, did the sheep perform this evolution, but the last time they did not come back into sight. "They're away hiding down among the bushes," said Joses. "Be ready. Now then close in. You keep in the middle here, Master Bart, and have the first shot. Pick a good fat one."
"Cutting up the buffler we killed," replied Joses. "Faraway?" "Oh, no; mile or so. We've done pretty well, my lad, for the first day, only we want such a lot to fill so many mouths." A suitable place was selected for the camp, down in a well-sheltered hollow, where a fire was lit, and some bison-meat placed upon sticks to roast.
"What do you say to that, Beaver?" said Joses, laying his hand upon the chiefs shoulder, and looking him in the face. "Indian dog of Apache never forgives," he replied quietly. "They may come to-day to-morrow next moon. Who can tell when the Apache will come and strike? But he will come." "There, Master Bart, hear that!" said Joses. "How about going down into the canyon to spear salmon now?"
Joses, my!" the little jockey was saying. "What you want is just a drop o' comfort out o' me bottle. Open a little, and I'll pour." Silver was just in time. "That'll do, Brand," he said. "I'll see to this. Give me the bottle. You go to Miss Boy." A doctor was called in and reported that the fat man's condition was serious. An ambulance was brought, and Joses removed. Silver saw it off the ground.
"What a fine one, Joses!" said Bart, gazing curiously at the venomous beast. "Six foot six and a half," said Joses, scanning the serpent. "That's his length to an 'alf inch." "Is it? Well, come along; we are wasting time, but do you think rattlesnakes are as dangerous as people say?" "Dangerous!
It was clear that the young couple were of secret interest to the dingy crowd. And in fact there were rumours afloat about them sensational stories not a few about what they stood to win in love upon the race. Monkey Brand and Joses were always drinking together in the bar as Silver walked through. Once he passed quite close to them.
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