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Updated: June 5, 2025
Among them rode Lonny, a youth of twenty-three, brown, solemn-faced, ingenuous, bowlegged, reticent, bestriding Hot Tamales, the most sagacious cow pony west of the Mississippi. Senator Mullens had informed him of the bright prospects of the situation; had even mentioned so great was his confidence in the capable Kinney the price that the state would, in all likelihood, pay.
Then they herded closely and gave one yell of triumph. But one of them Buck-Kneed Summers it was hit the key with the thoughtful remark: "She cut the mustard," he said, "all right. I reckon they're goin' to buy Lon's steer. I ain't right much on the parlyment'ry, but I gather that's what the signs added up. But she seems to me, Lonny, the argyment ran principal to grandfather, instead of paint.
"I never had any confidence in the boy. I don't mind telling you now that I have warned Alonzo not to get too intimate with him. You remember it, Lonny?" "Yes'm," responded Lonny. "Then you think the boy capable of appropriating the money?" asked Mr. Carter quietly. "Yes, I do." "Well, I don't!" said Uncle Oliver emphatically. "You are very easily deceived," said Mrs. Pitkin.
"You might just as well," said Lavinia Pitkin, tossing her head. "Come, Mr. Pitkin; come, my poor Lonny, we will go home. This is no place for you." "Good-evening, Lavinia," said Mr. Carter calmly. "I shall be glad to see you whenever you feel like calling." "When you have discharged that boy, I may call again," said Mrs. Pitkin spitefully. "You will have to wait some time, then.
There was a fierce clatter of hoofs, a rush, a gathering of steely flank muscles, a leap to the jerk of the bridle rein, and Hot Tamales, with Lonny bending low in the saddle to dodge the top of the frame, ripped through the great canvas like a shell from a mortar, leaving the cloth hanging in ragged shreds about a monstrous hole. Quickly Lonny pulled up his pony, and rounded the pillars.
And, therefore, it behooved the legislature of this great state to make appropriation for the purchase of Lonny Briscoe's immortal painting. Rarely has the San Saba country contributed to the spread of the fine arts.
Vangriff, and sat on thorns till that lady saw fit to take leave. Then she turned to Alonzo and said, in a hollow voice: "Lonny, you heard what that woman said?" "You bet!" "Do you think Uncle Oliver has gone and got married again?" she asked, in a hollow voice. "I shouldn't wonder a mite, ma," was the not consolitary reply. "If so, what will become of us?
"Of what are you accusing my boy?" asked Mrs. Pitkin, ready to contend for her favorite. "So that boy has been telling lies about him, has he? and you believe scandalous stories about your own flesh and blood?" "Not exactly that, Lavinia." "Well, your near relation, and that on the testimony of a boy you know nothing about. When Lonny is so devoted to you, too!"
Your uncle would be angry when he found it out." "Do you s'pose Phil knows anything about it?" suggested Alonzo. "I don't know; it is hardly probable. Do you know where he lives?" "With the woman who called here and said she was your cousin." "Yes, I remember, Lonny. I will order the carriage, and we will go there. But you must be very careful not to let them know Uncle Oliver is in New York.
Its sons have excelled in the solider graces, in the throw of the lariat, the manipulation of the esteemed .45, the intrepidity of the one-card draw, and the nocturnal stimulation of towns from undue lethargy; but, hitherto, it had not been famed as a stronghold of æsthetics. Lonny Briscoe's brush had removed that disability.
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