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Updated: April 30, 2025
De pilgrim gon' ke'p on de run, 'cause he no lak' for git stretch for politick, an' you git mor' chance for make de play for de girl." "What do you mean?" The Texan's eyes flashed. "I just knocked the livin' hell out of one fellow for makin' a crack about that girl." "Oui, A'm know 'bout dat, too.
The Texan hurled it to one side and smashed his way through the saloon owner's guard. Hardy, head down to escape The Kid's terrific blows, bucked ahead with all his power and weight advantage and seized him about the waist. It was apparent that he was trying to get his hands on one of the Texan's guns.
He wasn't noble, none noticeable Purdy wasn't. An' as for me tellin' you about him answer me square: Would you have believed me?" The girl's eyes fell before his steady gaze. "No," she faltered, "I wouldn't. But isn't there something we can do? Some way out of this awful mess?" The Texan's eyes flashed a glint of daring. He was thinking rapidly. Endicott moved his horse closer to the cowboy.
We've got to see this thing through!" Ma Thomas he had seen at a glance was a plains-woman. Courage and character were in her kindly face. The Texan's heart had gone out to her in her trouble and need. Once again he found himself in his native territory, but in a country gone strange to him. Ranchers and ranches had come in overnight, it seemed to him.
Like magic the cry arose from nearly every Texan's throat. The cavalry had charged again, and again the leading line had gone down. Now they were retreating, with the infantry beside them. Seeing it was of no use to remain longer, the cannoneer attempted to spike the four-pounder, but a Texan sharpshooter cut him down in the act.
"Dem no ketch. We com' feefty mile. Dat leetle hoss she damn good hoss. We got de two bes' hoss. We ke'p goin' dey no ketch. 'Spose dey do ketch. Me, A'm tell 'em A'm steal dat hoss an' you not know nuthin' 'bout dat." There was a twinkle in the Texan's eye as he yawned and stretched prodigiously. "An' I'll tell 'em you're the damnedest liar in the state of Texas an' North America throw'd in.
"We'll listen, anyway, but " "I want yo' to go to work fo' the S Bar," said The Kid crisply. "That settles that," growled the oldest puncher, after sending a searching glance at the Texan's face. The others looked amazed. "No. We've quit the S Bar." "Who suggested that yo' quit?" The Kid shot at them. The man at the Texan's right flushed angrily.
"You, Larange, take 'em back to the picket line, will you?" The Texan's hands closed about Drew's upper arms just below the arch of his shoulders, steered him on, and then pressed him down into the limited range of the fire's heat. From somewhere a tin plate materialized, and was in Drew's hold. He regarded its contents with eyes which had trouble focusing.
Slowly The Kid revealed his hole card. It was not a trey, but a four. Just as good, for this made him two small pairs threes and fours. He had won! "No," he drawled, "I wouldn't reach for my gun, if I were yo'." Blacksnake took his hand away from the butt of his .45. It came away faster than it had gone for it. Guns had appeared suddenly in the Texan's two hands.
The Texan's references might be obscure, but he helped Drew transfer Croxton from the precarious balance in the wounded man's own saddle to Drew's hold, and then rode at a walking pace beside the scout while Boyd trailed with the led horse. There was a pounding of hoofs on the road behind. A half dozen riders went by the mouth of the land at a distance-eating gallop.
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