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Updated: May 28, 2025
The insolent tone of him was like having one's face slapped, and it didn't pass over Lyn's head by any means. I thought to myself that if he had set out to entrench himself in her good graces, he was taking the poorest of all methods to accomplish that desirable end. "Just a moment, major," she said. "Are you going to be here any length of time, Sarge?" "A day or so," I responded shortly.
Got to be a sergeant; I'm in charge of a line-post on Milk River Pend d' Oreille. You'd better come on over and stay with me a day or two, Sarge." "I was heading in that direction," I answered, "only I expected to cross the river farther up. But, man, I never thought to see you up here.
My ankle is sprained or something and my side feels sort of funny." "I shouldn't wonder," said Dempsey. "I got a dippy kind of feelin' inside my own headpiece piece of shell casin' come and beaned me. It don't amount to much, though; just enough to get me a wound stripe. You're the lucky guy, sarge. Maybe it's so you won't have to go back and prob'ly I will."
"Sure, Sarge." With this implement Hal Overton burrowed a small hole through the top of the trench. Thus, without exposing himself too much, he was able to keep an eye on the distant grove in which the Moros had found cover. "I'll let you spell me on this watch, from time to time, Kelly," said Hal. "I'll be glad to, Sarge, for I'll admit that I'm anxious to know what the goo-goos are doing."
We're a tame generation.... It's you that it matters to kill." "Ah ain't no good for anythin'.... Ah doan give a damn.... Lawsee, Ah feel sleepy." As they slipped in the door of their quarters, the sergeant looked at Chrisfield searchingly. Andrews spoke up at once. "There's some rumors going on at the latrine, Sarge.
"I call you," the policeman said, and stripping the saddle and bridle from his sweaty horse, turned him loose to graze. "Hello, Mac!" I hailed, as he walked up to the fire. He turned at the sound of my voice with vastly more concern than he'd betrayed under the muzzle of Piegan's gun. "Sarge himself!" he exclaimed. "Beats the devil how old trails cross, eh?"
And in answer to his signaling a full score of red-jacketed riders were galloping down the ridges, a human comb that bade fair to rake us from our concealment in a scant number of minutes. "Looks bad for you and me, old boy," MacRae grinned. "I see now what brother Hicks has been up to. But they haven't got us yet. Whatever happens, Sarge, don't get excited and go to shooting.
"Could be you were handy and they had some kind of a hint to start a ruckus just to show there ain’t any proper law here. Could be that they knew you ride for Hunt and that made you just the game they wanted." "Helms’s kinda dumb to play any cute game," Nye protested. "An’ th’ sarge, he’s always been a good guy, I don’t see him bitin’ happy on any such backhand orders." "Not orders, no.
Say, Sarge..." the voice became whining, "don't you think I've nearly served my time down here?" "What do I know about that? 'Tain't my job." "But, Sarge, I used to be company clerk with my old outfit. Don't ye need a guy round the office?" Andrews strode past them into the barracks. Dull fury possessed him. He took off his clothes and got silently into his blankets.
I wish I could get to the front and be done with it," "Say, have a heart. You need a drink," said the top sergeant, banging his fist on the table. "Say, mamselle, mame shows, mame shows!" "I didn't know you could talk French, Sarge," said Fuselli. "French, hell!" said the top sergeant. "Williams is the boy can talk French." "Voulay vous couchay aveck moy.... That's all I know." Everybody laughed.
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