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Updated: June 3, 2025
It was creased and dripping, and before eating he opened it, carefully took out the papers, and spread them on the counter of the bar to dry. "You wouldn't guess there might be a fortune in these, would you, Blackey?" "Not Blackey! No negar-wool!" She shook her long black hair, and her blacker eyes glittered. "No Mexicano, no red squaw your woman."
Death; and the Donna Anna. "Locoweed? Do I savey loco?" The Old Cattleman's face offered full hint of his amazement as he repeated in the idiom of his day and kind the substance of my interrogatory. "Why, son," he continued, "every longhorn who's ever cinched a Colorado saddle, or roped a steer, is plumb aware of locoweed. Loco is Mexicano for mad crazy.
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