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Updated: April 30, 2025
"But," Dolly went on, sweeping the faces of the masculine row beside her and turning to the audience, "this stalwart bunch of Nature's noblemen here on the platform will tell you that women haven't got sense enough to vote. That's it, Mrs. Timmons, they think at the bottom of their hearts that women have skulls as thick as a pine board.
He was so deeply engrossed in these thoughts, the smoked-out cigar substituted by a pipe, that he remained unaware that Timmons had left the office, or that the Chinese man-of-all-work had silently tiptoed down the stairs and was cautiously peering in through the open doorway to make sure the coast was clear.
Laughing warmly, Westcott picked up her valise, threw a "So-long" to Carson, and with Miss Donovan close behind him, began making for the distant lights of the Timmons House. As they followed the road, which paralleled a whispering stream, the girl began to draw him out skilfully, and was amazed to find that for all of his rough appearance he was excellently educated and a gentleman of taste.
He would continue to believe in her, trust her, feel that some worthy purpose had influenced her strange action. And, above all, he would be at the lower bridge on the hour set. He was at the desk when Timmons returned. "What do I owe you, old man?"
At the precinct of Ridgeville, where only two hundred votes have ever been polled, there were at the last county election fully a hundred drunk from morning to night, including the candidates. They had ten fights that day; three men were cut and two shot. "Go it, Miss Dolly! You've got 'em on the run!" Farmer Timmons cried. "Swat 'em good an' hard! They started it!"
I do not pretend to know how it was accomplished, nor do I greatly care. Through some lie, no doubt. But, anyway, she was inveigled into leaving the hotel, seized by you and some of your gang, forced into a wagon, and driven off by Matt Moore." "You are a good dreamer. Why not ask Timmons to show you the letter she left?" "I have already seen it. You thought you had the trail well covered.
She may offer him a cup of hot coffee or a snack to eat. She will go to the back door and call her husband or sons in from the field to do their voting, and then the polls of that election will be closed as far as she is concerned." "Good, good, fine, fine!" Timmons shouted. "That's the racket!"
Both her companions followed her, laden with luggage, and Beaton, sensing instantly what had thus affected her humour, dropped his bag on the floor. "It's the best there is here," he protested. "Timmons has held it for you three days." "Oh, I think it is too funny, Ned," she exclaimed, staring around, and then flinging her wraps on the bed.
Later, from his own rooms, Cavendish secured accommodations on the Pennsylvania." He paused, endeavouring to see out through the window, hearing the hoof beats of an approaching team. "What's that, Pete?" he asked of Timmons, who was hovering as closely as he dared. "Pretty late, isn't it?" "Guests, I reckon; the Overland was three hours late; sure, they're stoppin' yere."
Two men came in through the door together, each with a small grip in his hand, which Timmons took from them, and deposited beside the stove. The larger wrote both names in the register, and then straightened up, and surveyed the landlord. "Any chance to eat?" he asked. "We're both of us about starved." Timmons scratched his head.
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