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Updated: June 6, 2025
Y'see, ther's two things, it seems to me, makes a feller act. One's his fool head, an' the other well, I don't rightly know what the other is, 'cep' it's his stummick. Anyways, that's how it is. My head makes me want to go one way, an' my feet gits me goin' another. So it is with this lay-out.
"It's devil's luck. I've said it all along. Only ther's sech plaguey knowalls around they won't believe it. Buck now I got nothing against Buck. He's a good citizen. But he's got a streak o' yeller in him, an' don't hold with no devil's luck. Maybe you remember." He grinned unpleasantly into the girl's eyes. She remembered well enough.
Sim Ripson filled a glass for himself, looked a second at the crowd, and dropping his eyes, raised them again, looked as if he had something to say, looked intently into his glass, as if espying some irregularity, looked up again, and exclaimed: "Boys, it's no use mebbe ther's no hell mebbe the Bible contradicts itself, but but ther is a heaven, or such folks would never git their just dues.
But it don't take a feller who's lived all his life among cattle more'n five seconds to locate their meanin'. They're corrals set up in an a'mighty hurry by folks who hate work o' that sort anyway. An' I'd say, Jeff, cattlemen real cattlemen don't dump a range down in the heart of the Cathills, not even fer this sweet-grass you can see around, when ther's the prairie jest outside.
He understood most of the ways and expressions of the men of the prairie. The hot blood surged under his calm exterior. His gray eyes, so accustomed to smiling, snapped dangerously. But his reply came with the same ease which he had displayed most of the time. "Wal, I don't guess ther's no myst'ry 'bout either of us, which you kind o' seem you'd like to think.
I ain't so sure about the art, neither. It's to be lined with red pine. Ther' ain't no art to red pine. Now maple bird's-eye maple, an' we got forests of it. Ther's art in bird's-eye maple. It's mighty pleasing to the eye. It 'ud make the folks feel good. Red pine? Red?" He shook his head ominously. "Not in this city. You see, red's a shoutin' color. Sets folk gropin' fer trouble.
But ther's others swear, an' Smallbones is one of 'em, that Jim himself was the rustler, an' they rec'nized him from the start. But someways he jest managed to fool Doc, 'cause his horse was cool, and didn't show no signs of the chase." The girl's pretty eyes were wide with anger at these accusers. But her anger was nothing to compare with the fury which now stirred Eve.
But it oughtn't to be altogether my fault, because, you know, I don't see them nor have nothing to do with them except when they're on me; and I don't believe I've ever lost one of them OFF of me." "Well, it ain't YOUR fault if you haven't, Silas; you'd a done it if you could, I reckon. And the shirt ain't all that's gone, nuther. Ther's a spoon gone; and THAT ain't all.
It's a fool question anyway. Ther's a dozen posts I could haul from. My bizness ain't your bizness. I stand pat fer why I traipsed nigh two miles to reach your darn fool camp. I handed you the trouble waitin' around if you ain't wise. I guess you're wise now, an' if you don't act quick it's up to you. If you've the savvee of a buck louse you'll beat it good an' quick.
Nor, in those moments, could he help feeling glad for that day when he had found the hungry wayfarer at the trail-side. "Ther's more than twenty years between us, sure," Buck cried with intense feeling. "Nuthin' can alter that, an' ther's sure nuthin' can make us see out o' the same eyes, nor feel with the same feelin's. Ther's nuthin' can make things seem the same to us.
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