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There was a loud banging of exploding cartridges, but only a few shots whistled around the heads of the cattlemen. Nevertheless, Wade told his men to resume shooting, and once more settled down to his own task. "What'n hell they tryin' to do?" Santry demanded. "Sounds like a Fourth o' July barbecue to me."

"I disremember just how fur that last stop is from the Crick, but I think it's betwixt 25 and 30 mile." Just then the whistle blew for a stop. "What'n the world are they stoppin' here for?" groaned Si. "Some woman's got a dozen aigs or a pound o' butter that she wants to send to town. I s'pose we'll stop here until she finishes churnin', or gits another aig to make up a dozen.

On the second night she counted the money in her bag, and said to William Henry: "How much money do you think we've spent already? Just " "Don't tell me, lass!" he interrupted her curtly. "When I want to know, I'll ask ye." And on the fifth evening of this heaven he asked her: "What'n ye got left?"

We'll be there in no time. You shall have some supper and 'What'n I want trapsing to Undern when I live at the Mountain? 'You'll be asking to come soon, he said, with the crude wisdom of his kind. 'You like me better than that soft parson even now. She shook her head. 'I'm a man, anyway. She looked him over, and owned he was.

I've got nerves worse than any old woman. I know you'll come out on top. You always do. But what'n hell made you say riatas?" "What'n hell made you brag about me to Manuel?" Jack came back instantly, and was sorry for it when he saw how Dade winced. "Honest, I'm not a bit scared. I know what I can do, and I'm not worrying." "You are. I never saw you so queer as you have been since I came back.

"That's why you licked the preacher," he assisted, and went back to his reading. A subdued rumble of mid-autumn thunder jarred sullenly overhead. Ford ceased caressing the purple half-moon which inclosed his left eye and began moodily straightening his tie. "Now what'n hell did I do that for?" he inquired complainingly. "Search me," mumbled Sandy over his book. He read half a page farther.

A growl went up. "What'n hell's that for I!" snarled one of the owners of the whisky threateningly. "Don't allow no whisky here," snuffed the harelip. The men were very angry. They advanced toward the cripple, who retreated with astonishing agility to the lighted room.

There was a glimmer, a click; and the man stood handcuffed. "Sit down on the grass with your back against that tree. Make yourself comfortable." Deal squatted awkwardly, settled, and turned a pallid face to the Messenger. "What'n hell's this mean?" he demanded. "Don't move and don't shout," said the Messenger. "If you do I'll have to gag you. I'm only going over there to take a look at your bees."

Finally the cattleman reached out a hand toward the smoothly muscled shoulders. It was Calder who stood nearest and he managed to strike up Daniels's extended arm and jerk him back from the region of danger. "What'n hell is that for?" exclaimed Daniels. "That horse is called Satan," said Calder, "and when any one save his owner touches him he lives up to his name and raises hell."

He was in evening dress, his collar and tie rumpled, his hair unkempt. His face was flushed, his eyes bloodshot. Reeling in, he hiccoughed: "What'n h ll do you live so far up town for? I thought I'd never get here. Say, this is the end of the world, ain't it? Jumping off place, eh? Stopped several times on the way to get a drink. My cabby nearly got lost.