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Updated: May 18, 2025
"Say, Bud, them Starr boys has cleaned us out on ropin' and racin'. We trimmed 'em on ridin'. Now that makes two to one, and we're askin' you as a old-timer if we're goin' to let them fellas ride north a-tellin' every hay-tosser atween here and Stacey that we're a bunch of jays?" "Oh, shucks!" was all Bud had to say.
Claims he's got a trained bronc I can show on." "Me, I'm gonna be busy as a dog with fleas," said Kirby. "I got to find out who killed my uncle. Suspicion rests on me, on a man named Hull, on the Jap servant, an' on Wild Rose." "On Wild Rose!" exclaimed Cole, in surprise. "Have they gone crazy?" "The police haven't got to her yet, old-timer.
The motorman drew in his head, clanged the bell, and the afternoon traffic proceeded to untangle. "Get in, old-timer," invited the driver whom Casey had assisted. Casey did not ask whether the driver was going in his direction, but got in chuckling at the small triumph over his enemies, the police. "Fords are mean cusses," he observed sympathetically.
You're sure about that forgiving business, old-timer?" "It's the one best bet, my son." "Pull for it to go through, then. Good night and thank you."
Were the diggings holding out? What were the chances for newcomers? And so on without end; and the burden always of gold! gold! gold! We were answered with the enthusiasm of an old-timer welcoming a newcomer to any country. Gold! Plenty of it!
There was a certain bow in his legs, and there were various other signs which Luck read instinctively as he got up. He smiled his smile, and the dried little man grinned back companionably. "Say, old-timer, what's gone with all the cattle and all the punchers?" Luck demanded with a mild querulousness. The dried little man straightened from the truck handles and regarded Luck strangely.
The old-timer shook his head. "No, he wouldn't do that. But I reckon he'd try to postpone a decision as long as he could. Unless he destroyed her in the first rush of rage, he wouldn't have the nerve to do it until he had made himself crazy drunk.
"From Butte," answered the Bald-faced Kid. "Wanted to get some ideas on the spring trade; saw you had a horse in the Thornton Stakes; thought I might find you; got here just as the race finished. Old-timer, how are you? You don't know how good it is to see you again!" "I know how good it is to see you, my son!" The old man laid his arm across the youth's shoulders. "How's the wife, Frank?"
It seemed a long, long time that he clung there, and it was quite dark when his rescuer spoke again. "I think the last log has floated out of the booming ground. I'll swim ashore with you now, as soon as I can shuck my boots and mackinaw." A few minutes later he cried reassuringly, "All set, old-timer," and slid into the water beside The Laird. "Relax yourself and do not struggle."
Still, moonlight shootin' is chance shootin', and when a cussed mean cayuse is sashayin' round if a man hits anything but scenery he's lucky!" "I thought that old-timer, Dade, was doing the talking." "Sure he was. And I'll bet it was his tillikum, Cross, that took the first crack at us. Didn't waste no time. He's some soon, that feller. I s'pose they got a camp, somewheres.
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