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Updated: June 4, 2025
Thees leetle piece land run down close to the rivaire, below Poetical, at those Sowfoot Crossing, and eet ees not vair' good land for the farming " Thud! Thud! The old man caught his temples with both hands. "I am 'most craze' by that steam-drill," he whispered. "Eet come so close to our secret. Let us get away. That sound cr-r-aze me. Found! Found! Vair' large lode, Mistaire Steering. Sacré!
"Signor Baskinelli, there are other places than drawing rooms, or even conservatories, in which to capture those who captivate." "I do I quite grasp your meaning, Mistaire Owen?" He tried to disguise the suspicion under an accentuated accent. "I think so, Monsieur Picquot." At the name Baskinelli turned livid.
Belmont, a little wizened fellow who understood nothing of this topsy-turveydom, hastened forward, deposited his armful on the table, and selected a finely embroidered waistcoat, which he proceeded to hold for his master. Wriggling into it, Feversham rapped out his orders. "Captain Wentwort', you will go to your regimen at once. But first, ah wait. Take t'ose six men and Mistaire Wilding.
"I have been track' thees mother lode," began old Bernique again, his feverish gaze again seeking out Bruce, "I think," he stopped and fell to musing, "What you gawn do, Mistaire Steering," he queried suddenly, with his weary old head twisted to one side, "what you gawn do about thees?" "Lord, Uncle Bernique, I can't do anything. You might do something for yourself.
"And also, Mistaire Steering, we have to the far south the Boston Range, in Arkansas, and far to the west the Kiamichi, in the Territoree." "Yes, but about these Canaan Tigmores, Mr. Bernique," insisted Steering, not at all deflected by Bernique's effort, "what about your Canaan Tigmores, Mr. Bernique?"
But before that we go, I ask your attention for the one moment to those word of our fellow-citizen, Mistaire Steering!" He stopped, reluctantly but heroically, and Steering, quitting the side of the girl in black, mounted the stump.
"O Mistaire Lazy Mans!" she called back. "Wolf Fang, him say yes if you winnaire!" But somehow, as such things will, it leaked out, and all Forty Mile, which had hitherto speculated on Joy Molineau's choice between her two latest lovers, now hazarded bets and guesses as to which would win in the forthcoming race.
Up to the silence, cleaving it gently, musically, there came unexpectedly the notes of a rollicking song: "The taters grow an' grow, they grow!" On the instant old Bernique's face relaxed pleasantly. He half grunted, half laughed. "The potato song!" he cried, his eyes gay, his mouth twitching. "Mistaire Steering, if you will ride on a little way you will have fine company.
"Not quite," put in Mr. Wilding. "Mr. Westmacott, I think, was constrained away. He did not intend..." "Tais-toi!" blazed Feversham. "Did I interrogate you? It is for Mistaire Westercott to answer." He set a hand on the table and leaned forward towards Wilding, his face very malign. "You shall to answer for yourself, Mistaire Wildin'; I promise you you shall to answer for yourself."
Finally their uneasiness and unspoken question were answered by an edict from the mouth of a small upright Frenchman, who mounted a stump and declaimed with a great flourish of graceful pomposity: "'Tis the wish of Mistaire and Meez Steering that none go to the mill until that the bar-r-becue shall be end." He was generously applauded and his fine shoulders stiffened responsively.
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