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Updated: June 12, 2025
Watch our front window after the narrow-gauge gets in, and when we've got the cash inside we'll pull down the shade for a signal. Don't turn him loose till then. I'm counting on you, Tom. Your Old Pard, BOB BUCKLY, Prest. Stockmen's National. The major began to tear the note into small pieces and throw them into his waste basket. He gave a satisfied little chuckle as he did so.
At the stockmen's meeting in Miles City, in addition to the big stockmen, there were always hundreds of cowboys galloping up and down the wide dusty streets at every hour of the day and night. It was a picturesque sight during the three days the meetings lasted. There was always at least one big dance at the hotel.
He could not quite understand Sheriff Owen. In fact Pete did not come half so close to understanding him as the sheriff came to understanding Pete. But Pete understood one thing and that was that Jim Owen was not an easy proposition to fool with. "Now where do we head for?" said Owen as they stood at the foot of the hospital steps. "I was goin' to the bank the Stockmen's Security." "Good bank.
And the sprightly sheriff of Sanborn County straightway hailed a languorous cabby who sat dozing on the "high seat" of a coupe to which was attached the most voluptuous-looking white horse that Pete had ever seen. Evidently the "hospital stand" was a prosperous center. "We want to go to the Stockmen's Security Bank," said the sheriff, as the coupe drew up to the curb. The driver nodded.
Opposite hung the major's old cavalry saber that he had carried at Shiloh and Fort Pillow. Placing a chair for Nettlewick, the major seated himself by the window, from which he could see the post-office and the carved limestone front of the Stockmen's National.
Heretofore, such payments had been made to The Spider's representative in that city the president of the Stockmen's Security and Savings Bank who had but recently notified The Spider that he could no longer act in the capacity of agent on account of local suspicion, already voiced in the current newspapers. Hereafter The Spider would have to deal directly with the Mexican agents.
Many a time, walking up and down the veranda when I couldn't sleep, I've thanked my stars that there was no woman hanging on to me any more. Most of the men on the river have sent away their women stockmen's wives and all. There was one here at the Bachelors' Quarters, but I packed her off before I went to Leichardt's Town.
They saw him travel diagonally across the street in a straight line and enter the Stockmen's National Bank. Major Tom sat down at his desk, and drew from his vest pocket the note Roy had given him. He had read it once, but hurriedly, and now, with something like a twinkle in his eyes, he read it again.
"So-long, Jim. I'll handle this for you. But I hate like hell to think it's the last time I can handle a deal for you." "You can't tell," said The Spider. The president of the Stockmen's Security sat turning over the papers on his desk. It had been a long while since he had been in the saddle some eighteen or twenty years. As a young man he had been sent into Mexico to prospect for oil.
He saw some one in the Stockmen's National Bank reach and draw a yellow shade down the whole length of its plate-glass, big front window, although the position of the sun did not seem to warrant such a defensive movement against its rays. Nettlewick sat up straight in his chair. He had listened patiently, but without consuming interest, to the major's story.
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