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Updated: June 26, 2025
Bob lay on his bed, a prey to wretched dread. He had made up his mind to have it out with Bandy, but his heart was pumping water instead of blood. When he looked at the squat puncher, thick-necked and leather-faced, an ugly sneer on his lips, the courage died out of his breast. Dud was sitting with his back to the wall.
At any rate, Kid, this time I want you to wait for me to ask questions before you cut loose." "If he don't try any funny business," qualified the puncher. "Course," assented Knowles. "Chuckie, you best stay back here." "Oh, no, Daddy. There's only one man and between you and Kid " "Sho! Come on, then, if you're set on it. Kid, you circle to the right."
There was no more shore leave granted. Crothers and Joe Byng were punished with extra duty and "confined to ship" for coming back with the marks of fighting on them; and the Puncher gave no further signs of life until, some three I days later, her long-suffering engines turned again and she departed through the channel that had brought her in.
Hopped away with broncs belongin' to you boys because they knew it'd be safe." "Picked easy marks, did they?" asked the puncher sardonically. The man with the razor tilted the chin of his customer and began to scrape. "Well, o'course you're only boys. They took advantage of that and done you a meanness." Dug Doble came into the shop, very grim about the mouth.
Doble squirmed away like a cat, but before he could turn to use his revolver Bob was on him again. The puncher caught his right arm, in time and in no more than time. The deflected bullet pinged through a looking-glass on a dresser near the foot of the bed. "Go to it, son! Grab the gun and bust his haid wide open!" an excited voice encouraged Hart.
"I told you, Curly," he reminded the cow puncher with undue emphasis, "that you was drawin' ten extry from day before yestiday. I reckon the stockholders can stand that." "That'll make it about break even," Curly answered simply. "Now," said Doc Tomlinson, "if either of them twins should need any drugs " "Drugs!" snorted Dan Anderson. "What would they want with drugs?
He has found some of that queer sort of religion what he called anonymous down there to that Inn, and if he'd have taken water the other night he'd have lost every one of them boys. He fought that puncher because he was after the gang behind him.
"We've met your friend all right," he said with a grin. "He's wan heluva lad. Fits the description to a T. There can't be but one like him here." And he went on to tell the story of the adventure of the janitor and the hose and that of its sequel, the resale of the fifty-five-dollar suit to I. Bernstein, who had reported his troubles to the police. The washed-out eyes of the puncher lit up.
As these worthies strolled through the richly furnished room leisurely smoking their after-dinner cigars Conward would make a swift summary of their rise from liveryman, cow puncher, clerk or labourer to their present affluence, occasionally appealing to Dave to corroborate his statements.
They didn't get you before." "No," said the puncher. "More by good luck than good management. I don't like going things blind, Pete. And you're always so blamed secretive." "I have to be," growled the other. "You're as leaky as a sieve yourself, Ratty. I never could trust you." "Nor nobody else," laughed the reckless puncher. "Sam's about got my number now. If he ain't the gal has "
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