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Updated: June 23, 2025
I only hope he'll stick to what he says. Maybe I'd get to see you down there. Tweet said he'd heard that the place they freight to is a live one. Ragtown, he said they called it. That's the kind of a place to make money in. I'd go, if I were you. Go down and make a stake, and then come back to Frisco. Money talks here." "With you?" Said Hiram, slowly drinking in dread suspicion.
Water at Butte Springs, by the way, Ragtown's present supply, will cost twenty-five cents a head for stock, and five cents a drink for human beings who are recognized citizens of Ragtown, the Tweet-to-be. Old friends, however, are hereby extended the privilege of watering free of charge while life shall last. "So folks, we're off in a bunch.
"He'll wake up to-morrow and think he dreamed about Ragtown," chuckled Drummond. "He sure will know he's nutty then," said Stool. They climbed once more into the truck, and before dawn were back in the city of tents and new pine shacks.
There was no need for it. The sight of the old man drifting toward Ragtown and Hiram galloping on ahead of him showed him plainly that the cat was out of the bag, that the two had held a conference on the desert during the night just past. Bitter with rage, Drummond turned about and drove fiercely back in Hiram's wake.
For the first time she told him of what her skinners had had to report when they were over their sickness following the doping at Ragtown. One and all, they said, they had been invited to the little cabin of the girl who ran the shooting gallery for a drink; after having fired several strings of shots and "joshed" with her out in front.
He had been laid up for a week from the terrible battering that Hiram had given him, and when he was about again he left the country in his touring car. His drivers continued to transport freight to the new Ragtown and to certain independent contractors who had reached the work.
But they did not get down to solid work on the mystery until Hiram was on his first trip to Ragtown after his wound had healed. Then the wagon train came to a stop at the curves, and Jo and all of her skinners walked through the forest to the scene of Hiram's battle. After a search they found the spot.
But Hank Monk said, 'Keep your seat, Horace, and I'll get you there on time! and you bet you bet you he did, too, what was left of him!" Ten miles out of Ragtown we found a poor wanderer who had lain down to die. He had walked as long as he could, but his limbs had failed him at last. Hunger and fatigue had conquered him. It would have been inhuman to leave him there.
They've heard about it, though, and Hooker was sent out to hunt for Filer. So the first thing the big rube will do when he reaches Ragtown will be to travel over toward Julia to overtake Jo and report. He'll get another horse, maybe, or hire a machine. Tweet would be in on it, no doubt, and would take him in his car.
We'll go to work and get married to-morrow mornin', if the old bus will take us to a preacher. I guess I've loved her some time," Tweet added bashfully. "Lucy and me'll make nice little playmates." Hiram rose and gripped his old friend's hand. "I'm mighty glad, Tweet," he told him. "Just too much Ragtown that's all that was the matter with Lucy.
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