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Updated: May 26, 2025
Nor, although it was a fine calm day, and their luggage was all packed up and labelled, did Mr Medlock and his friend Mr Shanklin succeed in making their promised trip across the Channel. A deputation of police awaited them on the Victoria platform, and completely disconcerted their arrangements by taking them in a cab to the nearest police-station on a charge of fraud and conspiracy.
"Yes, I suppose you could," admitted Slavens, watching him distrustfully and feeling thankful, somehow, that the horse was between them. "I saw you up on the hill after your horse, so I thought I'd come over and let you know I was around," said Shanklin. "Thought I'd tell you that I ain't holdin' any grudges if you ain't." "I don't see where you've got any call to.
And oblivious to it all slept Ross Shanklin Ross Shanklin, the tramp and outcast, ex-convict 4379, the bitter and unbreakable one who had defied all keepers and survived all brutalities. Texas-born, of the old pioneer stock that was always tough and stubborn, he had been unfortunate. At seventeen years of age he had been apprehended for horse stealing.
As I chanced to reach the hotel somewhat before the appointed time, and he had not arrived, I drove on to Bonchurch along the Shanklin road. On my way back, I passed a four-wheel cab; but not dreaming that his love of the “growler” reached beyond London, I never thought of him in connexion with it until I saw the well-known face with its sweet thoughtful expression looking through the cab window.
The gentleman introduced as Mr Shanklin stared curiously at Reginald for a few seconds, and then shook hands. Had the boy known as much of that gentleman as the reader does, he would probably have displayed considerably more interest in his new acquaintance than he did. As it was, he would have been glad of an excuse to avoid shaking hands with either him or his empty-headed companion, Mr Pillans.
Shanklin opposed the amendment as intended "to disfranchise the people of the Southern States who have gone into this rebellion, until the party in power could fasten and rivet the chains of oppression for all time to come, and hedge themselves in power, that they may rule and control those people at will." Mr.
He may get to thinking before he gets home that Jerry isn't worth ten thousand dollars." As they rode up to the rise of the hill, Agnes reined in and stopped. "Here is where we changed places on the coach that day when Smith thought there was going to be a fight," she recalled. "Yes, this is the place," he said, looking around with a smile. "Old Hun Shanklin was up here spying out the land."
"He sure did," Ten-Gallon agreed; "and he done it right! I know all about you" nodding to the doctor "and what happened to you back of that tent in Comanche that night. Shanklin had it in for you ever since you showed up his game the night that sucker feller was goin' to put down that wad of money. He'd been layin' for you, one way and another, for a couple of days or so.
On the porch, in shirt sleeves, smoking a cigar, keen-eyed and middle-aged, was the farmer. "What's the chance for a job!" Ross Shanklin asked. The keen eyes scarcely glanced at him. "A dollar a day and grub," was the answer. Ross Shanklin swallowed and braced himself. "I'll pick grapes all right, or anything. But what's the chance for a steady job? You've got a big ranch here. I know hosses.
True, Shanklin was a thin man; but he was wide. The doctor put on the garment. It was a very comfortable fit; the sleeves were a little long, but there was room enough in the shoulders. Surprising, said he, how wide that old rascal was in the chest. He transferred his money to Hun Shanklin's pockets, chuckling at the thought that he was returning it whence it came.
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