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Updated: June 13, 2025
The bushes! The bushes! Don't trample my thimble-berries!" But Lanpher, heeding not at all Molly's cries of warning, spurred his sweating horse through the thimble-berry growth, breaking down three shrubs, and splashed cat-a-corneredly across the spring, the brook, and several rows of flowers. The garden looked as if a miniature cyclone had passed that way.
"And he'll be shore to slick and slime round till all's blue. Damn him, riding over those flowers of hers!" Racey did not hurry. He had no desire to come up with Lanpher on the open range. It would be better to meet the man at his own ranch-house where there were apt to be plenty of witnesses. Racey realized perfectly that he might need a witness, several witnesses, before the sunset.
From Farewell to Marysville, throughout the length and breadth of the great Lazy River country, Lanpher was known unfavourably and disliked accordingly. To his companion's sneering remark Lanpher made no intelligible reply. He merely grunted as he reached for the gate to pull it shut.
The bank would 'a' renewed all right, but you can put down a bet and go the limit that Lanpher and Tweezy won't. I done asked 'em." "Five thousand dollars is a lot of money," said Racey, soberly. He had been thinking that the mortgage would not have been above two thousand at the outside. But five thousand! What in Sam Hill had old Dale done with the money?
"We'll take it I'm right," pursued Lanpher, lapping his tongue round the words as though they possessed taste and that taste pleasant. "And being that I'm right I'll say yore paw could 'a' saved himself the ride to Marysville by stayin' to home."
He's a respectable member of society now, I guess. Calls himself Jack Harpe and spends most of his time runnin' round Lanpher." "Then he ain't too respectable, the lousy pup. Calls himself Jack Harpe, huh? Shore, he come in the Starlight with Lanpher and gimme the eye without a quiver. Didn't know me, he didn't! And I ain't done nothin' to my looks to change 'em."
Yo're in this as deep as I am. If you think you ain't, try to pull yore wagon out. Just try it, thassall." "I ain't doing none of the work, that's flat," Lanpher denied, doggedly. "You gotta back me up alla same," declared the stranger. "That wasn't in the bargain," fenced Lanpher. "It is now," chuckled the stranger. "If I lose, you lose, too.
"Neither Baldy Barbee nor the Anvil outfit are any friends of mine. I don't even know 'em to speak to." "But I tell you it ain't Baldy Barbee and the Anvil, you wooden-headed floop. If it was them, why would Lanpher be in it? And Nebraska? And Thompson? And Peaches Austin? I dunno exactly what it all means.
Paul, a number of them actively engaged in business. Among the number are J.W. Bishop, J.C. Donahower, M.C. Tuttle, R.A. Lanpher, M.J. Clum, William Bircher, Robert G. Rhodes, John H. Gibbons, William Wagner, Joseph Burger, Jacob J. Miller, Christian Dehn, William Kemper, Jacob Bernard, Charles F. Myer, Phillip Potts and Fred Dohm.
It remained equally silent when they entered. McFluke, behind the bar, wearing a black eye and a puffed nose, nodded to them civilly. In chairs ranged round the walls sat an assortment of men Peaches Austin, Luke Tweezy, Jack Harpe, Doc Coffin, Honey Hoke, and Lanpher. The latter was nursing a slung right arm.
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