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Updated: May 11, 2025
"Then you'd best not begin noo," says he. "Every man tae his ain weepon," he says. "Now I warrant ye could do something wi' a guid crab-tree cudgel!" "Aye, could I," I answered blithely, "as well as ony lad on the Border." "This is a lonely hoose," says he, "and we might be molested by some rascals. It's weel tae be ready for whatever may come. Me and you and my son Mordaunt and Mr.
That would be mighty onprofessional! "'You onderstands that what now requires minutes in the recital don't cover seconds as a play. The lance Injun runs up to within a rod of me an' halts. His arm goes back for a mighty cast of the lance; the weepon is vibrant with the very sperit of hate an' malice.
And to this old trustworthy weepon I held in all his different plans to inviggle me into his preposterous idees and found it answered better than reason or ridicule. But even this failed to break up his crazy plan. I felt dretful and how I wuz goin' to break it up and git his mind off I couldn't tell; I talked it over with the children.
"'The next time I throws a knife in your presence, remarks Cherokee to Silver Phil, an' Cherokee's as cold an' p'isonous as a rattlesnake, 'it'll be la'nched at you. "Silver Phil don't say nothin' in retort. He's aware by the lib'ral way Cherokee sep'rates himse'f from the bowie that said weepon can't constitoote Cherokee's entire armament.
"Over south from Black Cloud's Greyhoss camp an' across the Arkansaw an' some'ers between the Polecat an' the Cimmaron thar's livin' a young Creek buck called the Lance. He's straight an' slim an' strong as the weepon he's named for; an' he like Black Cloud is a medicine sharp of cel'bration an' stands way up in the papers.
"One of the gyards is loadin' a ten-gauge Greener a whole mouthful of buckshot in each shell. He's grinnin' at Silver Phil as he shoves the shells in the gun an' slams her shet. "'Which I'm loadin' that weepon for you, says the gyard, contemplatin' Silver Phil derisive. "'You be, be you! replies Silver Phil, his eyes burnin' with rage.
I expected to see that point of steel shoot, with a quick stab, into the scarlet blouse before me. "Shoot 'n' be damned!" said D'ri. "'Fore I die ye'll hev a hole er tew 'n thet air karkiss o' yourn. Sha'n't give up no weepon till ye've gin me yer word ye 'll let thet air woman alone." I expected a volley then. A very serious look came over the face of the captain.
“Up at the dog-town,” I answered laconically. “Kill him yourself? How come you to have a weepon?” “We’d been up to Russian Peter’s, to borrow a spade for Ambrosch.” Otto shook the ashes out of his pipe and squatted down to count the rattles. “It was just luck you had a tool,” he said cautiously. “Gosh! I would n’t want to do any business with that fellow myself, unless I had a fence-post along.
Just as I come by that lumber-pile down yonder, a man hopped out an throwed a 'gat' under my nose. He was quicker than light, and near blowed my skelp into the next block before he saw who I was; then he dropped his weepon and said: "'My mistake. Go on. I accepted his apology." "Could you see who he was?" "Sure. Guess." "I can't." "It was the Bronco Kid." "Lord!" ejaculated Glenister.
Before ever he offers to get up, he lugs out his six-shooter an' makes some mighty sincere gestures that a-way to shoot up Jaybird. But he's slow with his weepon, bein' spraddled out on the grass, an' it gives Dave Tutt an' Enright a chance to jump in between an' stop the deal.
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