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"Don't they know a fellow eats dinner at noon and supper at night?" "I ain't noticed any dinner at noon for se-ve-real weeks," Hollister contributed. "Some feed that," ruminated Leroy, with memories of the Cambridge Hotel still to the fore. "With or without?" questioned Red. "I reckon I had one li'l' drink with it. No more." "Then they stung you," pronounced Hollister. "Mebbeso, and mebbe not.

His blue eyes narrowed in concentration of thought. "That's good guessin', Kirby. It may be 'way off; then again it may be absolutely correct. Let's find out if Olson stayed at the Wyndham whilst he was in Denver. He'd be more apt to hang out nearer the depot." "Unless he chose the Wyndham to be near my uncle." "Mebbeso. But if he did it wasn't because he meant the old man any good.

For what use eet is for live now I don' tell you. Those ol' man who speak me leave theese rancho he is your father, no?" "Yes, Pablo. And he isn't such a terrible man, once you get acquainted with him." "I don' like," Pablo muttered frankly. "He have eye like lookin'-glass. Mebbeso for you, mees, eet is different, but for Pablo Artelan " he shrugged.

"To Halifax with you an' yore cattle, Webb. Do you claim I rustled that bunch of beeves last night?" "I see you know all about it?" retorted Webb with heavy sarcasm. "Mebbeso. I'm not askin' yore permission to live not just yet." Webb flushed dark with anger. "You've got a nerve, young fellow, to go up to my ranch after last night's business.

"I leave those horse loose in the pasture," Pablo replied, a whit abashed. "I like for see if those horse he got some brains like before you go ride heem. For long time Panchito don' hear hees boss call heem. Mebbeso he forget no?" "We shall see, Pablo." They walked out to the barn. In a little green field in the oak-studded valley below, a dozen horses were feeding. Farrel whistled shrilly.

With a flirt of his hand Clay tossed the revolver to the top of a book-case, out of easy reach of a man standing on the floor. He ripped open the buttons of his overcoat and slipped out of it, then moved forward with elastic step. "It's you or me now, Jerry Durand." The prize-fighter gave a snort of derisive triumph. "You damn fool! I'll eat you alive." "Mebbeso.

Always wiz him eet is ze knife or ze club and now eet is ze rifle. COCHON! W'en I fight, I fight wiz what le bon Dieu give me." "You appear to have a certain code, after all," Bryce laughed. "I am inclined to like you for it. You're sporty in your way, you tremendous scoundrel!" "Mebbeso," Rondeau suggested hopefully, "M'sieur likes me for woods- boss?" "Why, what's the matter with Pennington?

"Well, yes, as you might say," the witness answered uneasily. "Carried a six-shooter for rattlesnakes, didn't you?" "I reckon, but I never went hellin' around with it." "Wore it to town with you when you went, I expect, as the other boys did." "Mebbeso." "What caliber was it?" "A .38, sawed-off." "Own it now?" The witness mopped his fat face. "No, sir." "Don't carry a gun in town?" "No, sir."

"Must be close to him," one said. "Got the makin's, Jim?" "Sure." Evidently the tobacco pouch was passed from one to the other. "Right in these rocks somewhere, I shouldn't wonder." "Mebbeso. Mebbe still hot-footin' it for the hills. He's in one heluva hurry if you ask me." "Killed Bob Dillon in the park, I heard." "If he did he'll sure hang for it, after what Dillon did for him."

I'm takin' you to Clanton because I need the money." "Mebbeso. You won't need it long if you throw me down." Then abruptly, the sheriff dropped into the manner of dry business. "Get down to tacks, man. Where is Clanton's hang-out?" Buck sat down and drew a sketch roughly on the tablet. "Cross the river at Blazer's Ford, cut over the hills to Ojo Caliente, an' swing to the east.