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Curtis Raidler interrogated an enormous gold watch, and laid his hand on McGuire's shoulder. "Come on, bud," he said. "We got three minutes to catch the train." Sarcasm seemed to be McGuire's vein. "You ain't seen me cash in any chips or call a turn since I told you I was broke, a minute ago, have you? Friend, chase yourself away."
At first I thought of interposing my whole army in the Chattooga Valley, so as to prevent Hood's escape south; but I saw at a glance that he did not mean to fight, and in that event, after damaging the road all he could, he would be likely to retreat eastward by Spring Place, which I did not want him to do; and, hearing from General Raum that he still held Resaca safe, and that General Edward McCook had also got there with some cavalry reenforcements, I turned all the heads of columns for Resaca, viz., General Cox's, from Rome; General Stanley's, from McGuire's; and General Howard's, from Kingston.
"I gave it up, and I'll bet you'll have to," he finished, thrusting a pasteboard box into his visitor's hands and nicely adjudging the distance a small table must be pushed in order to bring it conveniently in front of John McGuire's chair.
The cattleman seemed actually to assume and feel the character assigned to him by McGuire's intemperate accusations the character of tyrant and guilty oppressor. He seemed to have adopted the responsibility of the fellow's condition, and he always met his tirades with a pacific, patient, and even remorseful kindness that never altered. One day Raidler said to him, "Try more air, son.
They sleep with a gat under every head and ears that hear a pin drop in the next room right while they're snoring. They dream about fighting and they wake up ready to shoot." Terry smiled at this outburst. "How long has it been since there was a raid on McGuire's town?" "Dunno. Don't remember anybody being that foolish" "Then it's been so long that it'll give us a chance.
Altruism would have been McGuire's last guess. "He ain't no farmer," thought the captive, "and he ain't no con man, for sure. W'at's his lay? You trail in, Cricket, and see how many cards he draws. You're up against it, anyhow. You got a nickel and gallopin' consumption, and you better lay low. Lay low and see w'at's his game."
The cattleman seemed actually to assume and feel the character assigned to him by McGuire's intemperate accusations the character of tyrant and guilty oppressor. He seemed to have adopted the responsibility of the fellow's condition, and he always met his tirades with a pacific, patient, and even remorseful kindness that never altered. One day Raidler said to him, "Try more air, son.
"Take the air, indeed!" muttered Susan, watching from the kitchen window. "A whole lot of fresh air she'll get in Mis' McGuire's kitchen!" With another glance to make sure that Mrs. Nettie Colebrook was safely behind the McGuires' closed door, Susan crossed the kitchen and lifted the napkin of the breakfast tray. "Humph!" she grunted angrily, surveying the almost untouched breakfast.
Lloyd's came first; then, a few rods farther, on the other side of the street, McGuire's, and then Briggs's. Ellen had a library book under her arm, and she clutched her dress-skirt firmly. A terror as to the supernatural was stealing over her. She felt as she had when waking in the night from some dreadful dream, though all the time she was dinning in her ears how foolish she was.
McGuire. It was the first warm spring-like day, and Mrs. McGuire, bareheaded and coatless, had opened the back-yard gate and was picking her way across the spongy turf. "My, but isn't this a great day, Susan!" she called, with an ecstatic, indrawn breath. "I only wish it was as nice under foot." "Hain't you got no rubbers on?" Susan's disapproving eyes sought Mrs. McGuire's feet. Mrs.
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