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Updated: May 8, 2025
Greyne to purchase African necessaries: a small but well-supplied medicine chest, a pith helmet, a white-and-green umbrella, a Baedeker, a couple of Smith & Wesson Springfield revolvers with a due amount of cartridges, a dozen of Merrin's exercise-books on mature reflection Mrs.
McEachern hastily, "somewhere ilse, aftherward." "You shall choose time and place, of course. I was only going to ask you how you liked leaving the " "United States?" put in Mr. McEachern, with an eagerness which broadened his questioner's friendly smile, as the Honorable Louis Wesson came toward them.
The water lapped against the sides of the canoe. "Has it, Molly?" She bent over, and dabbled one finger in the water. "I I think it has, Jimmy," she whispered. The Honorable Louis Wesson, meanwhile, having left the water side, lit a cigarette, and proceeded to make a moody tour of the grounds. He felt aggrieved with the world.
The infuriated musician, supposing it to be the cornet who has mutinied, at once gets his Smith & Wesson in range. When the smoke has cleared away three shots are found to have taken effect two of them in a span of high-stepping horses attached to the elegant turnout of old Mrs.
Or else, he could enumerate all the pistols of a certain type; say, all the Philadelphia Deringers, or all the Allen pepperboxes, or all the rim-fire Smith & Wesson tip-back types. He had a remarkable memory for his pistols, although it was not out of the ordinary otherwise, sir." Rand nodded.
"He talks to me most of the time," said Molly. "Then," said Jimmy decidedly, "I seem to see myself making a big hit." "It's a long part if you aren't used to that sort of thing," said Wesson. He had hoped that the part with its wealth of opportunity would have fallen to himself. "I am used to it," said Jimmy. "Thanks." "If that little beast's after Molly," thought Jimmy, "there will be trouble."
He handed his secretary a Smith and Wesson revolver as he spoke. Shorthouse slipped it into his hip pocket and went out of the room. A drizzling cold rain was falling on fields covered with half-melted snow when Shorthouse stood, late in the afternoon, on the platform of the lonely little Long Island station and watched the train he had just left vanish into the distance.
It was the chance of a lifetime, a unique chance, perhaps his last chance, and it was to be lost for the sake of an ass like Wesson. Molly looked doubtful. "Well, come down to the water, and have a look at it," said Jimmy. "That'll be better than nothing." They walked to the water's edge together in silence, Jimmy in a fever of anxiety. He looked behind him. No signs of Wesson yet.
Something touched the heel of one boot, and he froze his leg into immobility, at the same time trying to get the big Smith & Wesson free. The shoulder-holster, he found, was badly torn, though made of the heaviest skirting-leather, and the spring which retained the weapon in place had been wrenched and bent until he needed both hands to draw.
One more coup, one lucky haul, and he was done. Then there would be the ranch, peace, security, an honest ending, and Pancha, believing, never knowing. The autumn was drawing to an end and the winter season settling into its gait. Everybody was back in town, at least Mrs. Wesson said so in her column, where she also prophesied a program of festivities for the coming six months.
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