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"Hush up, honey," said the big man tenderly, and he ran his thick fingers over her hair. "You ain't so bad. And all that's bad in you comes out of me. You forget and I'll forget." He waved across the table. "Terry'll be thinking we're a bunch of wild Indians the way we been actin'." "Oh!"
There was nothing ominous about their yapping. Patsy came to meet her as she entered the stableyard. The small neat figure had a disconsolate air. Patsy's eyes were red, his hair rumpled. "How is he?" he asked. "There is no change. The doctor is not alarmed." "Ah, well, that's good so far. Master Terry'll be comin'; that's better. I'll be meetin' him at the late train?"
He reverts to the old source stock." "I've heard something about that," nodded the other. "Once in a generation they say a mustang turns up somewhere on the range that breeds back to the old Arab. And that red hoss is sure one of 'em." They dismounted at the hotel, the common hitching rack for the town, and the elder man held out his hand. "I'm Jack Baldwin." "Terry'll do for me, Mr. Baldwin.
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