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Updated: May 20, 2025
"Perhaps smoke'll keep 'em off like mosquitoes!" he added hopefully. But Roy paid no heed. He was looking down into the hollow shell of that which had been Amber. Not a human sound anywhere; nor any stir of life, but the soft ceaseless kuru-kooing doves, that nested and mated in those dusky inner rooms, where Queens had mated with Kings.
A pot of hot tea soon was ready, and I drank some of it. "I hopes you feels better, sir," then spoke young Duncan MacLean. "A smoke'll taste good now. Got a pipe, sir?" I produced my pipe, and he held out to me a plug of tobacco. "Take he an' fill th' pipe, sir." With the plug in my possession, I drew my sheath-knife to cut it. But Gilbert Blake objected. "He's a big un, sir, to cut tobacca with.
He says the old man is sore about somethin'." "The Spider?" queried Brevoort. "Nope, Sam." "Goin' to ride over?" asked Pete, after the cook had left. "No. But I'm goin' to throw a saddle on one of the never-sweats and I'm goin' to pick a good one." "I reckon Blue Smoke'll do for me. You goin' to pull your freight, Ed?" "We got our runnin' orders.
I've had it ten years last May, and it's kind o' losin' its freshness, you know. I don't believe these 'ere streaks will bleach out." "Never mind, Ruey," said Miss Roxy, authoritatively, "I'm goin' to do Mis' Badger's leg'orn, and it won't cost nothin'; so hang your'n in the barrel along with it, the same smoke'll do 'em both.
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