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Updated: June 13, 2025
His assistant had been a cast off workman of the Mortlake plant, of whose whereabouts Joey said he was now ignorant. Then had come Slim's turn. Sullenly, but with the alternative of prison staring him in the face, he had admitted to impersonating the foreign spy. The part of Roy on that eventful night had been played by: "Guess whom?" said Mr. Bell, looking round. They all shook their heads.
"Weary, if you can and Slim's a good hand with horses, too." "Slim is that the tall, lanky man?" "No he's the short, fat one. That bean-pole is Shorty." Miss Whitmore fixed these facts firmly in her memory and ran swiftly to where rose all the dust and noise from the further corral. She climbed up until she could look conveniently over the top rail.
"Great the way cows are jumpin', ain't it?" "Sure. Well, I'll be movin' along to Slauson's. I just drapped in on my way. Thought mebbe y'u hadn't heard tell of the dance." "Much obliged. Was it for old man Slauson y'u dug up all them togs, Slim? He'll ce'tainly admire to see y'u in that silk tablecloth y'u got round your neck." Slim's purple deepened again. "Y'u go to grass, Mac.
Polly's curiosity was aroused. "What for?" she asked, stopping her sweeping for a moment. "Just to give the new graveyard a start," Slim chuckled. Polly joined in his merriment. "Spotted Taylor was always a public-spirited citizen," was her comment. "He sure was," assented Slim. "Get up there. I want to sweep under that chair." Polly brushed Slim's feet with the broom vigorously.
The sound, however, startled the enemy into an exclamation which revealed his whereabouts, and a moment later the two were locked together and rolling over the ground, Slim with a desperate grip upon the stranger's throat, and the latter landing blow after blow upon Slim's stomach. It was during this mêlée that Slim spied the searchlight of the launch and let out his first call.
The noise was not unlike that made by a locust in a tree on a hot day, but there was in the vibrations a more sinister sound. And well did Slim's horse know what it indicated. "A rattler!" yelled Bud, and close on the heels of his words followed action.
"She must be having a chill after being drowned," said Slim. "We ought to build a fire and set her beside it." Slim's mind was still on its first idea. It was only a step from fire to fudge. Katherine took up the ridiculous play with alacrity. "You build the fire while I get the blankets," she ordered. A few minutes later Mrs.
"Naw!" replied Slim's remains disgustedly, "the son of a gun wouldn't fight!" We reached my friend's ranch just about dusk. He met me at the yard gate. "Well!" he said, heartily. "I'm glad you're here! Not much like the old days, is it?" I agreed with him. "Journey out is dull and uninteresting now. But compared to the way we used to do it, it is a cinch. Just sit still and roll along."
All this was mere byplay; a momentary swinging of their mood to pleasantry, because they were a temperamentally cheerful lot, and laughter came to them easily, as it always does to youth and perfect mental and physical health. Their brief hilarity over Slim's misfortune did not swerve them from their purpose, nor soften the mood of them toward their adversaries.
If you meant to shoot, you'd 'a' done it long ago, when you pulled your gun," exclaimed Slim coolly. "I might do it now." Bud held his gun against Slim's breast. Slim threw up his hands to show he was not afraid of the boy. "Go ahead. Squeeze your hardware. I reckon I'm big enough to kill," he said. Then he took Bud's hand and gently slid the revolver back into the holster.
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