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Updated: June 19, 2025
If that didn't constitute a better title than a United States patent, there was no justice anywhere. Smoky, filled with beans and bacon, exclaimed vehemently "Shoot 'em on sight, that's what I say." Mintie stared at his bright eyes and flushed cheeks. "Do you allus mean jest what you say?" she inquired sarcastically.
"You look kinder peaky-faced. Anything wrong?" "Nothing," replied Mintie. "You ain't a-worryin' about your Pap, air ye? I reckon he kin take keer of himself." "I reckon he kin; so kin his daughter." "Shall I put my plug into the barn?" "We're mighty short of hay," said Mintie inhospitably. Smoky Jack stared at her and laughed.
"I think, Nal, you served him just about right, but I wish, don't get mad, Nal, I wish that er someone else had pulled up the post!" Mintie stood upon the porch of the old adobe, shading her brown eyes from the sun, now declining out of stainless skies into the brush- hills to the west of the ranch.
Mintie, who had now finished lacing the matron's shoes, rose eagerly and, with a shy glance toward me, made for the door. I hesitated, and looked at Mrs. Pitbladder. "You may go now," she said, with a wave of the pudgy hand.
"Git out of 'em," she repeated scornfully. "D'ye think if I was a man I'd stop in such a God-forsaken place as yours, with nothing but rattlesnakes and coyotes to keep me company? Go on!" "I've wandered far I've wandered wide I've dwelt in many a stately tower; And now I turn me back to ride To my own brown bird in her humble bower." "That'll do," said Mintie. "You ain't improved much.
Suddenly a shot rang out, repeating itself in echoes from the cañon behind the house. Mintie turned pale, and then laughed derisively. "Gee!" she exclaimed. "How easy scairt I am!" She sank, gaspingly, upon a chair, and began to fan herself with the skirt of her gown.
Bill Shakespeare can rest easy in his tomb. I've got my chores to do. 'Bout time you was doin' yours." Smoky Jack, refusing to budge, said jocosely, "Things air fixed up to home. 'Twouldn't worry me any if I never got back till to-morrer." Mintie frowned and went into the house. Smoky led his horse to the barn with perplexity and distress writ large upon his face. "Notice to quit," he muttered.
Likely as not they'll find it, too." Smoky grinned. Being the son of an old settler, he held squatters in detestation. Of late years they had invaded the foothills. Pap Ransom was openly at feud with them. They stole his cattle, cut his fences, and one of them, Jake Farge, had dared to take up a claim inside the old man's back-pasture. Smoky stared at Mintie. Then he said abruptly
The simple preparations were made swiftly. Two raw-hide lariats were properly adjusted. The prisoners looked on with the stoical indifference of Red Indians. It might have been said of the pair that neither had known how to live, but each knew how to die. "Ready?" said the 'Piker. "Hold on!" replied a high-pitched voice. The crowd turned to behold Mintie.
John Short had been nicknamed Smoky Jack because of his indefatigable efforts to clear his own brush-hills by fire. Across his saddle was a long-barrelled, old-fashioned rifle. Mintie glanced at it. "Was that you who fired jest now?" "Nit," said Smoky. "I heard a shot," he added. "'Twas the old man. I'd know the crack of his Sharp anywheres. 'Tis the dead spit o' mine.
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