United States or Australia ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !


"Where you headed?" queried Sneed. "Me, I'm lookin' for Bill Sneed's cabin. You ain't Sneed, are you?" "Yes, I'm Sneed." "Well, I'm in luck. I'm Cheyenne Hastings." "That don't buy you nothin' around here. What do you want to see me about?" "Why, I done lost a couple of hosses the other night. I reckon somethin' stampeded 'em, for they never strayed far from camp before.

There was a vast difference between Master Simon Sneed's estimate of Masters Simon Sneed, and the Messrs. Sands & Co.'s idea of Master Simon Sneed. But I beg my young friends not to let anything I have written create a prejudice against him, for he was really a very kind-hearted young man, and under certain circumstances would have gone a great way to oblige a friend.

Uncle Frank helped them haze Sneed's horses out of the yard on to the road, where Cheyenne waited to head them from taking the hill trail, again. Just as he left, Bartley turned to Dorothy who stood twisting a pomegranate bud in her fingers. "May I have it?" he asked, half in jest. She tossed the bud to him and he caught it.

The odds had been heavily against him. He had been standing in the light of the gambling-hall doorway while the men who had killed him had been in the shadow. "He didn't have a chance," concluded Cheyenne. "You say you were looking for this man Sears, and yet you took his part against Sneed's outfit?" queried the coroner. "I didn't just say so. Mr. Bartley said that." "Mr.

"Sneed and his bunch got Panhandle," stated Cheyenne quietly. "Mr. Bartley, here, saw the row. Four of Sneed's men are down. One got away." "Sure it was Sneed?" "I reckon your men will fetch him in, right soon. Panhandle got Sneed and a Mexican, before they stopped him." Colonel Stevenson glanced at Cheyenne's belt and holster. Cheyenne drew his gun and handed it to the marshal.

One of the cubes rolled off the bench. He stooped and picked it up. As he straightened, he stared. Just at the edge of the timber he saw Little Jim's pony, and Little Jim's black hat. Some one in the cabin pushed back a chair. Evidently the card game was finished. Then Cheyenne heard Sneed's voice: "Just lay off that game, if you want to eat. Come and get it."

"Where you been?" "I was over on the mountain." "How did these horses get here?" Uncle Frank's eye was stern. Jimmy hesitated. He had been forbidden to go near Sneed's place; and he knew that all that stood between a harness strap and his small jeans was the presence of Dorothy and Cheyenne. It was pretty tough to have recovered the stolen horses single-handed, and then to take a licking for it.

Covertly he glanced toward the edge of the timber. Little Jim had disappeared. Entering the cabin briskly, Cheyenne took his place at the table and ate heartily. Lawson, who seemed to be Sneed's right-hand man, was the first to speak to him. "Bill tells me you are huntin' hosses." "Yep! That little gray and the buckskin, out in your corral, are my hosses. They strayed "

And his father had said that he was simply going to ride up to Sneed's place and have a talk with him. Jimmy wanted to hear that talk. He knew that his father meant business when he had told him to go back. "All right for you!" said Jimmy finally. And he reined his pony round and rode back down the trail sullenly, his black hat pulled over his eyes, and his small back very straight and stiff.

Sneed's critter bein' gone too mought make folks lay it ter ye fur sure," persisted Hite. "I ain't seen Mr. Sneed's horse. Mr. Sneed ye wouldn't b'lieve it ter look at him, but he's a ransomed saint! ha! ha! The money fur him will be fotched hyar ter yer still. I sent fur it ter kem by Jake Glenn; he knows ye, an' ye know him." Con Hite's open brow did not cloud.