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"'Urray!" he yelled, dancing in the cold night air and blazing three shots into the woods. "The charge o' the light brigade! Waterloo! Lidysmith! The Camperdown an' orl the rest! Yu got no traditions, yu sneakin' pups! If I 'it one o' yu yu'd think of nothink but the quickest w'y 'ome."
Sneakin' coppers out've a blin' man's bowl 'd be more in his line o' country, I reckon. But that's Jan, all right; an' you can take it from me. Queer world, ain't it? Well, so long, Jim. I jest thought I'd look back an' tell ye. So long!" "So long, Jock. Oh, say, Jock! What's happened the rest o' that that feller's team, anyway?" asked Willis.
"Thar was an old fellar had a ranch in Chevelon Canyon, an' he was always bein' pestered by mountain lions. His name was Bill Tinker. Now Bill was no sort of a hunter, fact was he was afeerd of lions an' bears, but he shore did git riled when any critters rustled around his cabin. One day in the fall he comes home an' seen a big she-lion sneakin' around.
Yet Len trails in with a middlin' mean crowd, an' though you are pretty good, you're no match for Whitey Wasson an' his bunch of cowpunchers." "But my quarrel is with Len, for I'm sure he did this." "That's all right. I have a sneakin' suspicion that way myself, but Len is a coward, as well as a bully, an' he'd howl for help if you went at him.
It's a good place, and there's lots of first-class people here, but there's a few offscourings that hang like wolves on the edge of the sheepfold, ready to murder and git." "That was what you wanted to see me about, wasn't it?" Crozier asked quietly. "Yes; the other was just a shot on the chance. I don't like to see men sneakin' about and watching. If they do, you can bet there's something wrong.
I followed them, and they went round and round the house two or three times, ez ef they mout hev bin prowlin', and then I lost 'em in the woods again. It's just like that sneakin' hound Larrabee to hev bin lyin' in wait for me and afraid to meet a man fair and square in the open."
Then I put in my little bit of torture, and drove it away, through fear of infection to my own dog. After that it seems to have fallen in with a man who told me: 'Well, you see, he came sneakin' round my house, with the children playin', and snapped at them when they went to stroke him, so that they came running in to their mother, an' she' called to me in a fine takin' about a mad dog.
Once in the kitchen she threw down the wood and barred the door; she shut the boarded window-shutter, fastening it with an iron hook; then leaning the axe against the chimney, she sat down by the fire, muttering, "If dat nigger come sneakin' back yer now, I'll split 'e haid open, sho."
He's the rustler who stole your cattle!... Your pet son a sneakin' thief!" Jack Belllounds came riding down the valley trail. His horse was in a lather of sweat. Both hair and blood showed on the long spurs this son of a great pioneer used in his pleasure rides. He had never loved a horse. At a point where the trail met the brook there were thick willow patches, with open, grassy spots between.
"He's just gittin' ready fer the man who shot his daddy." "Well, who the hell WAS the feller?" The other man laughed, lowered his voice, and the heart of the listening lad thumped painfully against the bowlder under him. "Well, I hain't nuver told hit afore, but I seed with my own eyes a feller sneakin' outen the bushes ten minutes atter the shot was fired, an' hit was Babe Honeycutt."
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