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The few words were: BLENHAM: This here Mex don't seem to know what I mean. Next time send a man as can talk English. Anyway I am coming to-night. I don't want no killing if it ain't necessary, but there ain't going to be a hide or hoof left in Drop Off by morning. And the signature, cramped and stiff, was that of Steve's grandfather. "So," muttered Steve heavily.
An’ th’ stolen Mex hosses, they’s drove up here an’ maybe sold to some of th’ same fellas what lost th’ others. Hosses git themselves lost ’long them back-country trails, specially if they’s pushed hard. So them strays join up with th’ wild ones. Iffen a mustanger can rope him one an’ bring it in ... well, if it’s a good one, maybe so he’ll git a reward from th’ man what’s lost him.
I figure the Mex are goin' in through that winder they busted. That sound's their boots scaling the wall." "Ever been inside?" "Wunst, ter take some papers ter Lacy." "Well, what's it like? For God's sake speak up there's goin' ter be hell to pay in a minute." "Thar's two rooms; ther outside door an' winder are in the front one, which is the biggest.
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."
Drew was striving to keep a reasonable tone, to find an answer which must pierce through Bayliss’ rancor. After all, Bayliss could not have held his present rank and station so long and been all hot-headed plunger. "What was this so-important message Rennie had to have delivered to a camp of Mex mustangers?" Bayliss bored in.
Rennie replied, nodding vigorously, as if to make assent more emphatic. Anse translated. "Th’ Mex wanted to know if th’ Old Man meant what he said ’bout talkin’ up to th’ law. If so, he may loosen his jaw some. I’d say, if he’s a guide from down there, he wouldn’t be too set on coverin’ for Kitchell—not when that might mean gettin’ his own neck stretched.
Look ye here, bring all those papers and I'll put 'em safe back in the pocket book." The papers were folded up and enclosed carefully into the leathern wallet. Palafox, with trembling hand, thrust the package in his pocket, and then staggered to his feet. "There's a queer pain in the back of my neck and in my chest, Mex; I can't stand up help me."
Keep your gun down. Shake hands, if they offer; but let me do the talking." "If you wish." "I do. The one all in white man's clothes is Cochise. Next him, with the Mex sombrero, is Pete. He's one of Slade's Navahos. He stands in with Cochise, and I stand in with him. Sabe?" "You mean he's your man tips you off all that?" "Yes.
Thode, but let me remind you that it was a man from the States, a New York swell, who molested her this afternoon. There isn't a low-caste Mex' who would take a chance, for he'd know that every gun from here to the Sierra Madre would be cocked for him, and even the hills couldn't give him a hiding-place! But as to Wiley.
He was hungry and cold and keyed to a high nervous tension in his anxiety to make the most of his present big opportunity; he knew too well that he might not have another chance all winter, with the snow falling as if under his direction. "Get over there outa range of the camera!" he commanded them sharply, "then you can spout Mex. till you're black in the face, for all I care. I'm busy."
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