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Keith woke up, heard the sound of a knocking on the door, and went to the window. The cook was deaf as a post and would never hear. His sister was away. Perhaps it was a message from his father. A man stepped out from the house and looked up at him. "Mees Crawford, ees she at home maybeso?" he asked. The man was a Mexican. "Wait a jiffy. I'll get up," the youngster called back.
An hour later Buck Byington drew Sanders aside. "Dave, you're a chuckle-haided rabbit. If ever I seen tinhorn sports them two is such. They're collectin' a livin' off'n suckers. Didn't you sabe that come-on stuff? Their pack-horse is a ringer. They tried him out this evenin', but I noticed they ran under a blanket. Both of 'em are crooked as a dog's hind laig." "Maybeso," admitted the young man.
"Hope Harrison held you up for a good price," suggested the American casually. Pasquale showed his teeth in a grin. "He was some anxious to unload in a hurry had to take the market he could find handy." "Looks like he was afraid the goods might spoil on his hands," Steve commented dryly. "Maybeso. I didn't ask any questions and he didn't offer any explanations.
He was a volcano of outraged vanity and furious hate, seething with fires ready to erupt. "Some folks say it's Hart she's engaged to," purred the hatchet-faced tempter. "Maybeso. Looks to me like she's throwin' down Hart for this convict. Expect she sees he's gonna be a big man some day." "Big man! Who says so?" exploded Doble. "That's the word, Dug.
The clerk looked the raw Arizonan over from head to foot and back again. The judgment that he passed was indicated by the tone of his voice. "Name's on the door, ain't it?" he asked superciliously. "You in charge here?" The clerk was amused, or at least took the trouble to seem so. "You might think so, mightn't you?" "Are you in charge?" asked Dave evenly. "Maybeso. What you want?"
I know them buckskin tewas you're an Apache!" "Sí Apache!" agreed the Indian. "I come over here hunt sheep. What for you settum trap?" "Settum trap ketch you," answered Wunpost succinctly. "You bad Injun maybeso I kill you. Who hired you to come over here and kill me?"
When I meet up with him again, I'll repeat," Harrison bragged, hammering the pillow with his clenched fist. The Mexican looked politely incredulous. "Maybeso. This I say only. Yeager has played one game with Pasquale, one with you, and one with me. He comes out best each time. Of a sureness he is a strong man, wise, cool, resourceful. Is it not so?" The prizefighter sputtered with wounded vanity.
Feefty-Mile Swamp ees a monster that swallows men alive, Monsieur. You wait one week two week t'ree week, and some one will turn up to take you through," he urged. "But I can't wait. And I have an official map of the trail. Why can't I follow it without a guide?" Elliot wanted to know impatiently. The post-trader shrugged. "Maybeso, Monsieur maybe not. Feefty-Mile it ees one devil of a trail.
"That's the way of the world, isn't it? Our civilization is built on the group system," suggested Elliot. "Maybeso," grumbled the miner. "But I hate to see Alaska come to it. Me, I saw this country first in '97 packed an outfit in over the Pass. Every man stood on his own hind legs then. He got there if he was strong mebbe; he bogged down on the trail good and plenty if he was weak.
He'd blunder if he had a chance. His boys have milled all over the place and destroyed any trail that was left." "We'll go out anyhow Dave and Steve and I. Won't do any harm. We're liable to discover something, don't you reckon?" "Maybeso. Who's that knockin' on the door, Joy?" Some one was rapping on the front door imperatively. The girl opened it, to let into the hall a man in greasy overalls.
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