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Updated: June 9, 2025
"Cleve swung the whisky-bottle an' it smashed on Gulden's mug, knockin' him flat. Cleve was up, like a cat, gun burnin' red. The other fellers were dodgin' low. An' as I ducked I seen Gulden, flat on his back, draggin' at his gun. He stopped short an' his hand flopped. The side of his face went all bloody. I made sure he'd cashed, so I leaped up an' grabbed Cleve.
An' then he went out an' locked the door. He'd hardly goon, when there was a knockin' agin the winder. She upped and she oped it, and there sure enough was the little oo'd thing a settin' on the ledge. "Where's the flax?" says he. "Here te be," says she. And she gonned it to him. Well, come the evenin', a knockin' come agin to the winder.
"Get thee first the bull and cows that can do such a feat," shouted the outlaw in reply, "and then we will effect the exchange." The leap of Kynaston's horse was measured and marked out on Knockin Heath, and cut in the turf, with the letters H.K. at each end.
"Prayin' is a godly ack. Wheresomedever, an' whensomedever you do it." "But, mother, I don't believe you were prayin'. I heard the knockin' o' your whis'-broom. You was brushin' down the stairs." "Well, what if I was? Cleanliness is next to godliness, ain't it? Prayin' an' cleanin', it amounts to the same thing in the end it's just a question of what you clean, outside you or in."
I want to make my way to the kind of life you have in this house. There's more in life than booze, an' hard work, an' knockin' about. Now, how am I goin' to get it? Where do I take hold an' begin? I'm willin' to work my passage, you know, an' I can make most men sick when it comes to hard work. Once I get started, I'll work night an' day. Mebbe you think it's funny, me askin' you about all this.
That way led to Lake County and not toward the coast, so Saxon and Billy swung west through the mountains to the valley of the Russian River, coming out at Healdsburg. They lingered in the hop-fields on the rich bottoms, where Billy scorned to pick hops alongside of Indians, Japanese, and Chinese. "I couldn't work alongside of 'em an hour before I'd be knockin' their blocks off," he explained.
"I I beg your pardon," put in the barber, edging away a pace. "Bill was enchanted. Hark to him in the store, there, knockin' away at the chisel." "But there's some misunderstanding," the little man protested earnestly. "I understood it was to be a shave." "You can shave him, too, if you like." "If I th thought you were s serious " "Have some more brandy." Mr. Jope pulled out and proffered a flask.
It was just after Number Seventeen had pulled out, westbound, about one-forty in the morning. There wasn't anything else till six-one. Them are always the hardest hours. A fellow's got to stay awake, see, and nothin' to keep him unless maybe a coyote howlin' a mile off, or maybe a bum knockin' around among the box cars on the sidin', or, if it's cold, the stove to tend. That's all.
A topsy-turvy sign at the intersection announced that Wade Street was ahead. Emma Sanderson's grandson lived a couple of blocks down the road. Only the fact that she could hear someone inside moving about kept the interviewer hammering on the door. Finally she was rewarded by a voice. "Is that somebody a' knockin'?" In a moment the door opened.
The old fellow was polishing brasses, and as he came edging along until close to Clayton he said, in an undertone: "'Ell's to pay, sir, on this 'ere craft, an' mark my word for it, sir. 'Ell's to pay." "What do you mean, my good fellow?" asked Clayton. "Wy, hasn't ye seen wats goin' on? Hasn't ye 'eard that devil's spawn of a capting an' is mates knockin' the bloomin' lights outen 'arf the crew?
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