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Updated: May 19, 2025
But for that, I'd think it Red Feather who attacked the stage and killed Red Kimball. As it is, I believe it must have been his friends." "Now you've said something!" cried Mizzoo. "Boys, don't you think it's a reasonable explanation?" Some of them did, evidently, for the grim resolution on their faces softened; others, however, were unconvinced.
Fellows, clear a path for 'em." A broad lane was formed through the throng of smiling men whom the sudden, unexpected light of love had softened magically. While Mizzoo hastened to Bill's cell, some one exclaimed, "Invite us, too. Make it a town wedding!" And another started the shout, "Hurrah for Lahoma!"
She took it from Mizzoo's lax fingers and deliberately tore it from top to bottom. "I guess I'm a-getting old, sure enough," said Bill. "This is beyond me." Wilfred looked at Lahoma questioningly. Brick, stupefied by violence done that sacred instrument of civilization, stood rooted to the spot. Mizzoo was grinning now.
"Steady now, old Mizzoo we've whipped packs of wolves before today coyotes crazy with hunger big gray loafers in the rocks eh, Mizzoo?" He shouted to the deputies who had been pushed against the railing: "Give it to 'em, boys!" But the deputies did not fire, and the mob, though chafing with mad impatience, did not advance.
"That's so," exclaimed Red Kimball's former comrade. "Well, turn 'im loose, that's what we ask LET him go open the jail door!" "He's locked up for his own safety," shouted Mizzoo. "You fellows agree to leave him alone, and I'll turn him out quick enough. You talk about the law what you want to do to Bill ain't overly lawful, I take it."
Henry Woodson, the cow-puncher, still known as Mizzoo was one of the old gang who greeted Wilfred with extravagant joy which shaded away to easy and picturesque melancholy in lamenting the passing of the good old days. "These is the days of fences," complained Mizzoo, as Wilfred, in answer to his invitation, rode forth with him to view the changes.
So after considerable haggling and jawing, he said we could, and here we come, just about sundown, all of us looking sheepish enough to be carved for mutton, but everlasting determined to take that gal by the paw." "Well?" said the young man who had often heard this story, but had never been treated to the sequel, "what happened then, Mizzoo? You always stop at the same place.
He'll tell me if he knows anything and if he doesn't, it's an outrage to shut him up, old as he is, and as rheumatic as he's old." On the way to the rudely improvised prison, Mizzoo defended himself. "He wasn't too old and rheumatic to fight like a wildcat why, he had to be lifted up bodily and carried into his cell. Not a word can we get out of him, or a bite of grub into him.
During the reading, they had been watching Lahoma, and her expression promised more than fruitless laughter. "Hold on, Mizzoo, Lahoma's got something up her sleeve!" Lahoma spoke clearly, that her voice might carry to the confines of the crowd: "Mizzoo, I think you read in that warrant, 'county of Greer, state of Texas'? Didn't you?" "That's what I done. Here's the words."
The young man reached the corral after a ride of twelve or thirteen miles, most of the distance through a country of difficult sand. He galloped up to the rude enclosure, surrounded by a cloud of dust through which his keen gray eyes discovered Mizzoo on the eve of leaving camp.
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