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Updated: May 6, 2025
They were talking about Skeeter Newson, the notorious pickpocket, who two days before had broken jail and had not yet been found. Skeeter's exploits were a favorite topic of the Calvary Micks, and Dan, despite the low state of his mind, pricked his ears to listen. "They traced him as far as Chicago," said one of the men, "but there he give 'em the slip."
A voice, the Skeeter's, bawled out raucously: "Rush him all together from different sides at once!" A backward leap! Jimmie Dale's boot was crashing glass and frame, stamping at it desperately, making a hole for his body through the skylight. A yell, a chorus of them, answered this then the crunch of racing feet on the gravel roof.
His three hundred dollars was on the race, and incidentally, he never left Smoky from the time he led him up from pasture until the time came when he and Jeff Hall rode side by side down to the quarter post. They came up in a small whirlwind of speed and dust, and Smoky was under the wire to his ears when Skeeter's nose showed beyond it. Little Lost was jubilant.
He went straight to Chicago Ike's gambling rooms and found the Skeeter's gang there you know them, Red Mose, the Midget, Harve Thoms, and the Skeeter you remember your fight with them over old Luddy's diamonds! Well, they have not forgotten, either! They are on their way here, now!
An' I kin tell yuh the time yore horse made when he run agin Dave's Boise. He's three seconds yes, by Christmas, he's four seconds slower t'day 'n what he's ever run before! What fer sport d' you call that?" His voice went up and cracked at the question mark like a boy in his early teens. Jeff stalked forward to Skeeter's side. "Jake, did you pull Skeeter?" he demanded sternly.
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