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Updated: May 26, 2025
"Which man do you mean, Mrs. Hull?" asked the lawyer. "The big brown man sittin' at the end of the front bench, the one right behind you." Kirby rose. "Think prob'ly she means me," he suggested. An officer in uniform passed down the aisle and laid a hand on the cattleman's shoulder. "You're under arrest," he said. "For what, officer?" asked James Cunningham. "For the murder of your uncle, sir."
Yes, he said he used to live up at the head of this bend, and one night he choked his child, which was crying, not intending to kill it, which was prob'ly a lie, and then he was scared, and buried it in a bar'l, before his wife got home, and off he went, and struck the northern trail and went to rafting; and this was the third year that the bar'l had chased him.
"If the murderer had give him an invite to a grand-stand seat. But prob'ly he didn't." "No, but it was hot that night. A man roomin' at the Wyndham might come out to get a breath of air, say, an' if he had he might 'a' seen somethin'." "Some more of them ifs, son. What are you drivin' at, anyhow?" "Olson. Maybe it was from there he saw what he did." Sanborn's face lost its whimsical derision.
Besides, Allee might be well enough to go by Monday, or perhaps she could come later in the week. It would be wisest to accept the invitation at once, so with a little hop of decision, she announced serenely, "Tell Saint John I'll come, and prob'ly Allee will, too. Her colds don't usu'ly last long, and she'll be all right by Monday."
"He was prob'ly not feeling well; maybe what Aunt Mandy calls chilling," she said. She found grandmother making pumpkin pies, for the minister and his wife were coming to dinner the next day. Grandmother was famous for making pumpkin pies, and never allowed any one else to make them.
"When Cunningham worked that crooked irrigation scheme of his on Dry Valley, I reckon I was one of them that hollered the loudest. Prob'ly I talked foolish about what all I was gonna do about it. I wasn't blowin' off hot air either. If I'd got a good chance at him, or at Hull either, I would surely have called for a showdown an' gunned him if I could. But that wasn't what I came to Denver for.
"She would want 'em herself, prob'ly, Uncle Jed," she added. "Don't you think so?" Jed appeared to consider. "Well," he drawled, "she might, I presume likely, be as selfish and unreasonable as all that. But then again she might . . . hum . . . what was it the cat walked on in that story you and I was readin' together a spell ago? That er Sure Enough story you know. By Kipling, 'twas."
They broke camp and were about to start on the journey to Ugu's castle when they discovered that Button-Bright was lost again. So, after vainly searching for the boy a full hour, they formed a procession and proceeded in the direction of the wicker castle of Ugu the Shoemaker. "Button-Bright's always getting lost," said Dorothy. "And, if he wasn't always getting found again, I'd prob'ly worry.
Prob'ly it wouldn't do no good for me to talk mattermony to Phar Phar to t'other one. She couldn't ask him to go git a minister. 'Tain't right to put that much onto a woman's shoulders. The trouble with him is that he's too sure of wimmen. Had his sister under his thumb all them years, and thought less and less of her for stayin' there. He's too sure of t'other. Thinks nobody else wants her.
But he wouldn't stay in the hallway. He'd prob'ly come to this room. An' he'd no doubt bring his parcels here. But one thing's certain: if he did that, he took 'em all away again. He might 'a' left somethin' in the closet, or under the bed, or somewheres." A search was made of the places named, as well as of drawers and wash-stand, but Mr. Bud found no additions to his property.
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