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Updated: May 31, 2025
The inquiry brought out a round of somewhat cloudy witticism, with proposals to Lambert for an exchange on terms rather embarrassing to meet, seeing that even the least preposterous was not sincere. Taterleg winked to assure him that it was all banter, without a bit of harm at the bottom of it, which Lambert understood very well without the services of a commentator.
I'll be handin' out stews with a slice of pickle on the side of the dish before another week goes by, Duke." "What are you goin' to make oysters out of in Wyoming?" the Duke inquired wonderingly. "Make 'em out of? Oysters, of course. What do you reckon?" "There never was an oyster within a thousand miles of Wyoming, Taterleg. They wouldn't keep to ship that far, much less till you'd used 'em up."
"You had as much to do with bringin' them to time as I did, Taterleg." "Me? Look me over, Duke; feel of my hide. Do you see any knife scars in me, or feel any bullet holes anywhere? I never done nothing but ride along that fence, hopin' for a somebody to start something. They never done it." "They knew you too well, old feller." "Knowed me!" said Taterleg. "Huh!"
"I used to roll 'em in flour and swaller 'em with the feathers on," said he. "You're a terrible rough feller, ain't you?" Taterleg inquired with cutting sarcasm. Alta led Jedlick off to his corner; Taterleg and Lambert entered the hotel office. "Gee, but this is a windy night!" said the Duke, holding his hat on with both hands. "I'll let some of the wind out of him if he monkeys with me!"
She pulled her horse up short, and gave him, not a figurative hand, but a warm, a soft and material one, from which she pulled her buckskin glove as if to level all thought or suggestion of a barrier between them. She turned then and shook hands with Taterleg, warming him so with her glowing eyes that he patted her hand a little before he let it go, in manner truly patriarchal.
Adventure had taken hold of him like liquor. He made a start for the door as if to carry out his expressed intention in all earnestness. Lambert stopped him. "He might not see the joke, Taterleg." "He couldn't refuse a man a friendly turn like that, Duke. Look at him! What's that feller rubbin' on him, do you reckon?" "Ointment of some kind, I guess."
All concerned in the struggle were so deeply engrossed in their own affair that none noted the approach of the Duke and Taterleg. The fellow on the ground was leading his horse through as Lambert galloped up. At the sound of Lambert's approach the dismounted man leaped into his saddle. The two trespassers sat scowling inside the gate, watching him closely for the first hostile sign.
It did not serve as a recommendation among the neighbors who had preyed so long and notoriously on the Philbrook herd, and no doubt nothing would have been said about it by Hargus to even the most intimate of his ruffianly associates. But Taterleg and old Ananias took great pains to spread the story in Glendora, where it passed along, with additions as it moved.
Taterleg looked at him again with that queer turning of the eyes, which he could accomplish with the facility of a fish, and rode on in silence a little way after chiding him in that manner. "Well, it won't do you no harm," he said. "No," sighed the Duke, "not a bit of harm." Taterleg chuckled as he rode along, hummed a tune, laughed again in his dry, clicking way, deep down in his throat.
When Taterleg roused the camp before the east was light, Lambert noted that another man had ridden in. This was a wiry young fellow with a short nose and fiery face, against which his scant eyebrows and lashes were as white as chalk. His presence in the camp seemed to put a restraint on the spirits of the others, some of whom greeted him by the name Jim, others ignoring him entirely.
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