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Updated: May 11, 2025
"No; but Ransom was also certain that the Colthwaite plan was the only one that could bring the Man-killer to time." "Have you any other reason to suspect this main?" queried Mr. Ellsworth. "Only the fact that Ransom and Jim Duff have been close friends." "Where does Ransom stop?" "At the Mansion House.
The youth had had his baptism of fire in the ceaseless wars which the Cherokees waged against the other Indian tribes. He had already won the "warrior's crown" and his "war-name," a title conferred only upon the bravest of the brave. He was now Otasite, the "Man-killer" of Tennessee Town.
"Tom, I often feel certain that the Man-killer extends away down to the center of the earth and up again on the other side. Before I'm a very old man I expect to hear that several of our steel piles have shot up above the surface in China or India." Hearing the noise of horse's hoofs behind him, Tom turned. He beheld Fred Ransom riding out to the spot on a mottled "calico" horse.
"But I wouldn't lay off your trail, Andy. Why? Because I'm as proud as a devil. I'd started to get you and I'd lost Gray Peter trying. And even after you saved me from Allister's men I was still figuring how I could get you. And then, little by little, I saw that the girl had seen the truth. You weren't really a crook. You weren't really a man-killer.
The man expanded under her smiles, her teasing, her playfulness, her affection. Neale had no pang in divining the love Larry bore Allie. Drifter, cowboy, gun-thrower, man-killer, whatever he had been, the light of this girl's beautiful eyes, her voice, her touch, had worked the last marvel in man forgetfulness of self. And so Neale loved him.
Yet, if the road shifted enough to avoid any possibility of resting on the big Man-killer, then it would have to go through the range beyond here would have to tunnel under the hills for a distance of three miles. That would cost millions of dollars. No, sir; the railroad will have to lay tracks across the Man-killer, or else it will have to stand a loss so great as to cripple the road."
"Then," suggested Juliet, "why don't we give it away and give him just as much as it cost, including our suits and the dogs' collars and everything?" "We have no right to give away a man-killer. 'The Yellow Peril' is cursed." "Let's sacrifice it," she cried. "Let's make a funeral pyre in the yard and burn it, and our suits and the dogs' collars and everything.
He was not in the least afraid, but very angry. "'I hate you, Arrumpa, he said, 'because you have killed my father. I am too little to kill you for it now, but when I am a man I shall kill you. He struck me with his fists. 'Put me down, Man-Killer! "So I put him down. What else was there to do?
He rode that man-killer like Satan. Did he not already know that it was Pedro who shot at him? Is not Pedro a sure shot, and did he not miss twice? Twice, señorita; which makes it certain that this Señor Gordon is a devil." "Don't talk nonsense, Juan. I want to know how he came to tell Pedro that he would whip him."
They were idiots, hopeless fools, to dream of conquering Diablo by brute force. And if they succeeded, they would have a broken-spirited horse on their hands, worse than useless, or else a treacherous man-killer to the end of his days. He looked again.
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