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The answer seemed to come in the questioning voice of the coroner. "Your name, please?" "Laura Rodaine. Least, that's the name I go by. My real maiden name is Laura Masterson, and " "Rodaine will be sufficient. Your age?" "I think it's sixty-four. If I had my book I could tell. "Your book?" "Yes, I keep everything in a book. But it is n't here. I could n't bring it."
Among the names that graced the official roster, during the brief span of the trail days, were the brothers Ed, Jim, and "Bat" Masterson, Wyatt Earp, Jack Bridges, "Doc" Holliday, Charles Bassett, William Tillman, "Shotgun" Collins, Joshua Webb, Mayor A.B. Webster, and "Mysterious" Dave Mather. The puppets of no romance ever written can compare with these officers in fearlessness.
"Well, serves me right for butting in," he added philosophically. "Let's go up and see who it is?" said Eph. "He must be in the cave." "You go first," said Sam Higgins, who was not over-brave, "it might be a bad man or an Indian." "Pshaw, I'm not afraid!" said Masterson. "Give me your pistol, Sam, if you're scared." "I'm not scared, but there's no use running into trouble," said Sam.
'I have my own lawyers in London, he said stiffly. 'I thought I made it clear that I did not need your services further. Mr. Fishwick rubbed his hands. 'I have that from your own lips, Sir George, he said. 'Mrs. Masterson, my good woman, you heard that? Sir George glowered at him. 'Lord, man? he said. 'Why so much about nothing? What on earth has this woman to do with it? Mr.
And do you, my good woman, attend to me a moment. I have a word to say about your daughter. 'Not a word! Mrs. Masterson, the attorney cried his eyes almost bursting from his head with excitement. Sir George was thunderstruck. "Is the man an idiot?" he exclaimed, staring at him. And then, "I'll tell you what it is, Mr.
I felt most uncomfortable, as indeed I think the rest did. She merely inclined her head to Masterson, seemed almost to avoid the eye of Dr. Ross, glared at Dr. Leslie, and absolutely ignored me. Craig had been standing aloof at his laboratory table, beyond a nod of recognition paying little attention to anything. He seemed to be in no hurry to begin.
Then, by the bright moonlight, they saw the bare plateau below. The black barren where the adventurers had been working that afternoon. Masterson was the first to see traces of digging. He seized Eph's arm and pointed. "That's the place," he said in a hoarse whisper. "See, they've been at work there already." "Tom Tiddler's ground," whispered Eph.
Ever since Dick Donovan had written for his paper, the Boston Evening Eagle, the wonderful story of the boys' adventures on the trail of the giant sloth of Brazil, other Boston reporters had regarded him as worth watching. In some way, young Masterson learned of Dick's frequent visits to High Towers while the preparations for the Colorado trip were going forward.
"Oh, Ned's always willing to take chances," said Bart Keene. "Yes, and sometimes it isn't a good thing," replied Frank. "Oh, you're too particular," came from Fenn Masterson. "What's the use of doing the safe thing all the while?" "That's right, Stumpy my boy," commented Ned, "Stumpy" being Fenn's nickname because of his short, stout figure.
"Well, he's tuk caught him yesterday. Aaron Masterson spotted him hanging around Riverview. He's arrested." "Good!" cried Snap. "Now he'll get what he deserves." "An' that ain't all. Who do you think the tramp sent fer when he was in jail?" "Who?" asked the four young hunters, simultaneously. "Ham Spink and Carl Dudder.
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