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I gave er Elisha's whirlagig here a spin and when the black end stopped 'twas p'intin' straight up. That meant yes. If it had p'inted down, 'twould have meant no." "Suppose it had pointed across half way between yes and no?" "That would have meant that er what's-his-name er Deuteronomy there didn't know any more than I did about it." This time Phillips did laugh.
I glance over that a- way, an' thar through the oak bresh comes Prince Hal. An' although he's a mile off, he's p'intin' straight for this yere invader, Hotspur. At first I thinks Prince Hal's alone, an' I'm marvellin' whatever he reckons he's goin' to a'complish by this return. But jest then I gets a glimmer, far to Prince Hal's r'ar, of that reedic'lous Pistol, the milk-white steer.
And he was allers talkin' about 'em to folks, p'intin' out that little stone that he'd stubbed his toe on, and this pesky weed that stung him, and t'other little mite o' mud he'd conceited somebody'd throwed at him. He fretted and scolded and complained 'bout 'em, and made out that nobody never had so many tryin' things gettin' in his way as he had.
Thar's twenty-one of us has voted, an' it stands nine for Randall an' twelve for Old Monroe; when up lopes this yere Mexican an' allows he's locoed to vote. "'Who do you-all think you're goin' to vote for?" asks Ormsby. ""Senior Monroe," says the Mexican, p'intin' at Old Monroe. "'Stop this deal," yells Bronco Charlie, "'I challenges that vote. Mexicans is barred."
Up across one of the big stone chimleys is carved "John Sterett," that a-way; which I mentions the same as goin' to show he ain't afeard none of bein' followed, an' that wherever he does come p'intin' out from, thar's no reward offered for his return. "'I ain't so shore neither, interjects Texas Thompson. 'He might have shifted the cut an' changed his name.
"'Well, says Dave, p'intin' to a ornery, saddle-colored half-breed who's makin' himse'f some frequent, 'that Injun they calls "Pickles" is his nephy, an' you wants to look out a whole lot. I hears him allow that the killin' of his relatif is mighty rank, an' that he don't like it nohow.
"Tom wheels, an' is lookin' into the mouth of East's six-shooter not a yard off. "'Put up your hands! says East. "But Tom don't. He looks over the gun into East's eye; an' he freezes him. Then slow an' delib'rate, an' glarin' like a mountain lion at East, Tom goes back after his Colt's an' pulls it. He lays her alongside of East's with the muzzle p'intin' at East's eye. An' thar they stands.
"'That's me rig, I says to him, p'intin' up to the gaff, 'an' me coal, an' I'll throw the fust man overboard who lays hands on it! An' then the sergeant come out and took McGaw one side an' said somethin' to him, with his back to me; an' when McGaw turned he was white too, an' without sayin' a word he turned the team and druv off. An' just now I met Mr.
We're in the southern border of the Osage country on the Grayhoss at the time, an' he p'ints to a heap of stones piled up like a oven an' chimley, an' about four foot high. I saveys thar's a defunct Osage inside. You-all will behold these little piles of burial stones on every knoll an' hill in the Osage country. 'See thar, says this Hardrobe, p'intin'. 'That's my squaw.
"'It falls out that where we fords the Pecos we runs up on a Mexican Plaza the "Plaza Chico" they-all calls it an' we camps thar by the river a week, givin' our cattle a chance to roll an' recooperate up on the grass an' water. "'Then we goes p'intin' out for the settin' sun ag'in, allowin' to strike the Rio Grande some'ers below Albuquerque.
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