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"He’s drinking something out of a brown bottle—seems to relish it a heep more’n he would cold coffee," reported the watch. "Hi there! Hi! Mr. Chugg!" The stage-driver, thinking it was merely a request to be allowed to walk, continued to drive with one hand and hold the brown bottle with the other. But even his too solid flesh was not proof against the continued bombardment of the umbrella handle.
Drew was still half in the past. "What do I owe you more’n the thanks of a mighty tired man you’ve turned out brand new again?" He smiled and was suddenly all boy. "Foah bits, suh. An’ it was a pleasure to do fo’ a gentleman. It truly was. Come agin, suh—come, agin!" Drew went down the corridor, his spurs answering with a chiming ring each time his heels met planking.
He did not know why he uttered that as a challenge; the words just came out that way. "Not any more’n any of us wot can be drawed into a fight in town. You keep away from Bayliss. He can’t come huntin’ you without tippin’ his hand so wide he’d never be able to play agin. Hey, here comes somebody poundin’ leather so hard he’s gonna beat it right intuh th’ ground!"
"If necessary, Chino, pass those supplies you brought in. We eat cold, at least for now." "You look ready to up saddle ’n ride." Anse was waiting behind Drew’s rock. His arm rested in a sling with a neat and reasonably clean bandage about his wound. "How’s that hole?" Drew asked with renewed concern. "Nothin’ much more’n a nick. Say, th’ Old Man’s like a real doc, ain’t he?
And this is something else, stranger, you went for your gun a few minutes ago. Kirby stopped you, but next time that could lead to real trouble." "I can’t see why—" Drew began. "Well"—Anse was on the defensive—"a man can take jus’ so much pushin’, an’ we had more’n that! Next time anybody lays his dirty hands on me, he’s gonna know he’s had him trouble, all right!" "I don’t mean that."
Drew sniffed the aroma of the bacon Donally was frying, his stomach protesting plaintively. "What are they sayin’?" he whispered to Anse. "Old Man pointed out nice an’ plain what th’ Mex’s in for, lessen he speaks up. This hombre, Rennie thinks maybe he don’t run regular with Kitchell—more’n likely he came up from th’ south, could be to guide th’ gang back there some place.
It’s bad enough to bet and sell the blacks, I think." "Ho, ho! So you’ve got some free State notions already, have you?" said Mr. Middleton. "Well, honey, you’re more’n half right, I reckon." So saying, he for the fourth time passed up his coffee cup. Breakfast being over, he took his young friend to the stable and bade him select for his own use any horse he chose. Mr.
Tied myself up in a string of lies and now they have me tight. So help me, Anse, if I ever get this unsnarled, I’m never goin’ to open my mouth again to say more’n ’yes’ or ’no’!" The Texan laughed. "You ain’t never been one to color up a story redder’n a Navajo blanket!
Alida she makes him the best kind of a wife, them kids is the pride of his life, and then, them cursed cattle-men do for him. Of course, he takes to rustlin’; I’d do more’n rustle if they’d touch mine." The pair of broncos that Mrs. Yellett was driving humped their backs like cats as they climbed the steep mountain-road. With her, driving was an exact science.
"You’ll live with her," said Joshua. "It’s more as flesh and blood can bear." "Flesh and blood can bear a good deal more’n you think for," said Joshua, and then he delivered up two letters and drove off toward the barn. "If those are letters," said Aunt Mary from her pillow the instant she heard the front door close, "I’d like ’em.
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