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It did not take me long to run up three good hands, and, sitting down by Ryan, I laid the cold deck in Ryan's lap. It was not long before the cold deck came up, and then the boys began to bet lively, each getting in a few hundred.
Either he had mistaken some of the landmarks of Ryan's sketchy map or else the cowpuncher had forgotten the lay of the country. Still, Roy knew roughly the general direction of Huerfano Park. If he kept going he was bound to get nearer. Perhaps he might run into a road or meet some sheepherder who would put him on the right way. He was in the heart of the watershed where Big Creek heads.
As for the crew, they had by Ryan's orders discarded their usual clothing for jumpers and trousers of blue dungaree, with soft felt hats, cloth caps, or knitted worsted nightcaps by way of head-covering, so that, viewed through a telescope, we might present as slovenly and un-man-o'-war-like an appearance as possible.
He was a member of the James boys' gang. Being convicted of highway robbery he was sent to the prison for twenty years. After Jesse James had been killed by young Ford, and Frank's crimes had been pardoned, Ryan's sentence was commuted to ten years, and after serving seven he regained his liberty. Ryan was accredited with being one of the best prisoners in the penitentiary.
"Of course not, of course not!" said the Panther, eager to show that he had no suspicion of his friends. "Did you stop anywhere on your way?" "Yes," said he with some slight embarrassment. "Stop at Ryan's," mentioning a low tavern on the borders of the reservation, which was a terrible thorn in the side of all the missionary's efforts.
Carl felt Forrest Haviland's hand on one shoulder, then an awkward pat from tough Jack Ryan's paw, as Tony Bean's violin turned the plaintive half-light into music, and broke its heart in the "Moonlight Sonata." "Yuh, piston-ring burnt off and put the exhaust-valve on the blink. That means one cylinder out of business," growled Hawk Ericson.
Our chosen driver replied to this by saying that he wouldn't be caught dead at a pig fair with Dan Ryan's horse, but in the midst of all the distracting discussions and arguments that followed we held to our original bargain; for we did not like the look of Dan Ryan's high-stepper, who was a 'thrifle mounTAIny, as they say in these parts, and had a wild eye to boot.
But I guess he'll have to go back to blacking boots. That's what he's most fit for." After his interview with Mr. Murdock and Henry Fosdick, Dick felt considerably relieved. He not only saw that his friends were convinced of his innocence, but, through Tim Ryan's testimony, he saw that there was a reasonable chance of getting clear.
Homeless, friendless; but Joe was his friend, and Paw and Hank were his friends and besides them there was in all the world not one friend of Casey Ryan's. They were good friends and good fellows, even if they did put too much hoot in their hootch. Casey Ryan liked his hootch with a hoot in it.
You know Hare can't get a hall to speak in for love or money nobody dares rent him one; he can't buy an inch of space in the Gazette; he can't put spreads on the billboards without having 'em pasted out in the night. To-night the whole thing's been done for him Ryan's big town-meeting. Well, we're going to try to swipe that meeting do you see?
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