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Updated: May 18, 2025
"Waal, some, a brace or two o' brants; jest hand me them pincers, Mort. Why? Want to buy?" "No; I want to shoot." "Hey? You! He, he!" "I killed one this morning, Uncle Adam." "Whar'd ye get yer gun?" "Didn't have none." "Hey? Little boys shouldn't tell squibs." "I'm not squibbing; I 'honked' to it from behind some rocks, and then knocked it over with a stone." "Ye did?
This at once raised the pinto several points. To be known, and, as Bill's tone indicated, favorably known by The Duke, was a testimonial to which any horse might aspire. "Whar'd ye git him, Bill? Don't be so blanked oncommunicatin'!" said an impatient voice. Bill hesitated; then, with an apparent burst of confidence, he assumed his frankest manner and voice, and told his tale.
"Whar'd you git him?" he squeaked. The girl turned her head as the mule broke into a trot. "Ain't got time to tell. They are my cousins," explained the girl. "What is your name?" asked Hale. "Loretty Tolliver." Hale turned in his saddle. "Are you the daughter of Dave Tolliver?" "Yes." "Then you've got a brother named Dave?" "Yes."
"Come, Ralph," said the commander of the Station, "whar'd' you steal that brown mar' thar?" a question whose abruptness somewhat quelled the ferment of the man's fury, while it drew a roar of laughter from the lookers-on. "Thar it is!" said he, striking an attitude and clapping a hand on his breast, like a man who felt his honour unjustly assailed. "Steal! I steal any horse but an Injun's!
"But, Mason, remember that at that time our nation was battling for independence, and could ill spare aid for us in our struggle for supremacy in this western frontier." "Jes' so!" retorted Rogers. "An' whar'd you an' me an' the rest uv us who wuz strugglin' fur footholt heah hev been, ef we'd depended on the Federal Government to fight Caldwell, McKee, Simon Girty, an' ther red devils?
She shook the bundle of shawls vigorously, until the old lady was thoroughly roused and glared at her with her dark, beady eyes, while she mumbled, "You hyar, shakin' me so, you limb. You, Mandy Ann! Whar did you come from?" "Jacksonville, in course. Whar'd you think? An' hyar's a gemman come to see you, I tell you. Wake up an' say how d'ye."
"Ah, what's that, Aunt Lucy?" said the deacon. "It's to do oder folks as you'd want 'em to do to you, or somehow dat fashion. I tell you, Massa John, 't would he mighty hard for you white folks to work great many years and get noffin'. Den, if you dies, whar'd we go to? I specks we'd go down de riber, like Jones's poor people did las' week."
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