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Updated: May 28, 2025
"Twar one mornin', thirteen summers ergone, an' I war ergunnin' down in ther woods er piece, not fur from ther Swift River. I rekerlect hit war er purty mornin', with ther dew still er-clingin' ter ther grass, an' sparklin' like jewels, an' ther wood birds war singin' like they war special happy.
Again he spoke, and in his halting words was a world of affection and encouragement. "Easy, children," he said. "Easy, boys an' gals. Ther' sure ain't no hurry now. They're dead all dead. Dead as mutton." He clawed full possession of the reins again. And in a moment the cart was speeding down the long gradient that was to bear them on the prairie world beyond.
Young Doane started violently, then recovered himself and laughed away his confusion. "How'd I know what ther riders says?" he demanded. "We don't traffick with 'em none at our house." But Parish Thornton continued to bore with his questioning eyes into the other face until Pete fidgeted.
Afore he was strung up, Seventy-Five yer axed him, accordin' to custom, ef ther was enny thing he had to say, or enny request that he allowed to make of us. He turns to Seventy-Five yer, and " Here he paused suddenly, looking at his companion. "He sez, sez he," began Seventy-Five, taking up the narrative, "he sez, 'Kin I write a letter? sez he.
And the woodsman, watching with eager interest from the cliffs, muttered: "Take to it, ye old bug-eater! Ther' ain't nawthin' else left fer ye to do'!" This was apparently the conclusion of the old bear herself; for now, after licking and nuzzling the cub for a few seconds till he stood up, she stepped boldly off the rock and started out over the coppery flats.
"Or Dirty O'Brien handin' out scripture readin's in the same layout," retorted Pete, as he followed his companions out of the door. Holy Dick ordered a "night-cap." "Them two fellers make me hot as hell," cried O'Brien fiercely, as he dashed the whisky into Holy's glass from a bottle under the counter. "Ther', Holy, drink up, and git. I'm quittin' right now," he added.
"'Tain't noways what ye'd call much o' a story, but it 'lustrates ther intelligence o' ther hawg, which in my 'pinion ez almost ez great ez thet o' some collidge gradooates what I hev mixed with." Bud stopped and looked hard at Ben, who seemed to be taking a nap in his big chair.
If you lose your grip that tow-colored scalp of yours'll be raised sure, an' every penicious breeze that blows 'll get into your think depot and hand you every sort of mental disease ther' ain't physic enough in the world to cure. Guess that's plumb right. It don't cut no ice what I think. A feller like me jest thinks the way life happens to boost him.
"Nor dead, neither," added the carpenter. "Ther' won't be nothing left of neither of 'em but ashes." And the carpenter hid his face in his hands. The fresh-water fisherman had pulled out a rag which he called a "hangkercher," it had served to carry bait that morning, and was making use of its best corner to dry the tears which were running down his cheeks.
"Here," he went on, "this is how she says of them kids: 'You can't jest lay down reg'lations fer feedin'. Jest feed 'em natural, an' if they git a pain dose 'em with physic. Ther's some things you must kep 'em from gittin' into their stummicks. Kindlin' wood is ridiculous fer them to chew, ther' ain't no goodness in it, an' it's li'ble to run slivvers into their vitals.
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