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Updated: May 22, 2025
Their crashing into the wall was almost meaningless, and I barely noted either the dense smoke or the fitful flashes of flame as the little garrison returned shot for shot. It was Brennan's voice how hateful it sounded then which recalled my attention. "Mapes," he said, with the sharp tone of wearied command, "take a crack at that fellow over yonder by the big tree; he must be in range.
As they looked upon his tall, erect form, manly bearing, and large dark eyes, in which still lurked the fire of an honest indignation, they felt the impossibility of ordering him about like Mapes the carman. They regarded him for a moment in awkward silence, not knowing what to do or say.
There's a Mex who used to hang about here a couple of years ago they allers said belonged to Mendez's gang. His name is Cateras, a young feller, an' a hell ov a gambler. It just comes ter me that he was in the Red Dog three er four nights ago playin' monte. I didn't see him myself, but Joe Mapes said he was there, an' that makes it likely 'nough that Mendez isn't so blame far away."
These thoughts flashed through his mind swiftly; then the light of the lantern gleamed in his eyes, and he saw the faces clustered about. "All right, Mapes," commanded the man with the light. "Let the fellow up until I get a look at him. Who the hell are you?" "Sergeant Hamlin, Seventh Cavalry." "Darned if it ain't. Say, what does all this mean, anyhow? Who's shot? Turn the body over, somebody!
Professor Mapes being appealed to, suggested that to the above solution a little acid be added which acted like a charm shortening the time for a sitting from six, eight, or ten minutes to that of about one. Decomposition, however, would go on by the action of light and heat through the solution.
"I had him wait in the anteroom, sir. He would give no name, and seems to be of the working class; so I thought I better tell you first, sir." "Very well, Mapes. I'll soon find out what he wants." It was Sexton, twirling his hat nervously in his hands, and still standing irresolutely in the middle of the floor.
Some one picked the weapon up, and held it to the light, turning the chambers. "Two shots gone, Sergeant." "We heard three; likely the Lieutenant got in one of them. Sentry, what do you know about this?" Mapes scratched his head, the fingers of his other hand gripping the prisoner's shoulder. "Not so awful much," he replied haltingly, "now I come ter think 'bout it.
When the summer came again, Mark Twain and his family decided for once to forego Quarry Farm for a season in the Catskills, and presently found themselves located in a cottage at Onteora in the midst of a most delightful colony. Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge, then editor of St. Nicholas, was there, and Mrs. Custer and Brander Matthews and Lawrence Hutton and a score of other congenial spirits.
It was only an accident which gave me a clue to the real program. Mapes sent me back into the vacant space just forward of the paddle-wheel, seeking a lost cant-hook, and, as I turned about to return the missing tool in my hand, I paused a moment to glance curiously out through a slit in the boat's planking, attracted by the sound of a loud voice uttering a command.
Mary Mapes Dodge's delightful children's story called 'Hans Brinker; or, The Silver Skates' deserved an entirely new dress, with illustrations made in Holland instead of America. The publishers have just issued an edition in accordance with this suggestion.
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