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Updated: May 31, 2025
Why, thu damn leetle cuss actooly kin make fists already, an' he jes' nacherally pre-empts my ole hawg laig every time I goes there. Thu han'le is good to cut his teeths on, Ken says, an' he kin eat it cleah off if he wants. I m thinkin' o leavin my spah gun foh him to nibble on at odd times." "An' Ken?" There is a certain diffidence in the sturdy fellow's voice.
"Can't you see his laig got jammed till he's groggy? Wonder is, he didn't take the dust! They don't raise better riders than he is." "By hockey! He's all in. Look out! Jed's falling," France cried, running forward. It looked so for a moment, then Jed swam back to clear consciousness again, and waved them back. He began to use his quirt without mercy. "Might know he'd game it out," remarked Yorky.
"What's sauce fo' the goose ought to be sauce fo' the gander," argued the ex-moonshiner. "It ain' fittin' fo' you-all to say anythin' ag'in' Dr. Morgan, whatever he may se-lect to do," asserted Bud, combatively, and Pink hastened to hedge. "Ah 'low not. He certainly was white to me when Ah broke mah laig. 'N as fo' Mr. Baron, Ah always did like him, 'n this is a new tie between us.
"'You-all can't ring in Mexicans an' snake no play on us. This yere 'lection's goin' to be on the squar', or it's goin' to come off in the smoke." "'With this, Red River, who's been sorter domineerin' at Ormsby with his six-shooter while he's freein' his mind, slams her loose. Red River over-shoots, an' Ormsby downs him with a bullet in his laig. "'Thirteen for Old Monroe," says Ormsby.
"Bring the camphire, Timothy, and the hartshorn, and start up the oil stove for hot water, and move lively." Mrs. Biggs said to her son. "I don't believe she's broke her laig, poor thing. How white she is," she continued, laying her hand on Eloise's forehead. This brought the tears in a copious shower, as Eloise sat up and said, "It is my ankle. I think it is sprained.
'Frien'less has a white foot on de off front laig and besides dat he has a rough-feeling scab on de belly whar he done rip hisself somehow befo' I gits him. Dis dawg am smooth as a possum. "That settles all arguments. You can't fool a swipe 'bout a hoss he's taken care of. He knows every hair on him. "One day I'm clockin' this Alcyfras while a exercise-boy sends him seven-eights.
He hastened home and sent for the Virginian. He had made a decision. "See here," he said; "those horses are coming. What trail would you take over to the Judge's?" "Shortest trail's right through the Bow Laig Mountains," said the foreman, in his gentle voice. "Guess you're right. It's dinner-time. We'll start right afterward.
Black Cloud ain't up to no sech move, the same bein' a trade secret of the Lance's an' bein' the hossha'r is hid in the ha'r on the pony's laig, no one notes its presence. "After Black Cloud looks his red-eyed big medicine pony all over an' can't onderstand its lameness, the Lance asks him will he cure it. Black Cloud, who's sc'owlin' like midnight by now, retorts that he will.
Your uncle was one of those that marked it off, ma'am." "And Bannister crossed it?" "Yes, ma'am. Yesterday 'Frisco come on him and one of his herders with a big bunch of them less than fifteen miles from here. He didn't know it was Bannister, and took a pot-shot at him. 'Course Bannister came back at him, and he got Frisco in the laig." "Didn't know it was Bannister?
An' w'en dat Sally Alley done lay him on hes side, wid de los' laig down, hit was jes' a pitcher jes' a pitcher!" declared Uncle Rufus, reminiscent yet of the long past feast-day. "Wal, dar warn't ne'der ob de waitresses willin' tuh tak' dat goose in an' put it down befo' Mars' Colby naw'm! So dat yaller gal had to put on a clean han'kercher an' ap'on, an' do it her own se'f.
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