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Updated: June 25, 2025
The platform was deserted. The old folks, too, were dancing. Martha Waterman caught the recognition of it in Isabel's eyes, pointed at the empty seats of eld, and nodded gayly. She sped out of her place and, losing no step, danced up to Isabel and Andrew. "I dunno which's the youngest, old or young," she cried, "nor they don't either.
The prizes fer this here contest is: First prize, ten dollars, doneated by the directors of the bank fer which's openin' this celebration is held in honour of. Second prize, one pair of pants doneated by the Montana Mercantile Company. Third prize, one quart of bottle in bond whiskey doneated by our pop'lar townsman an' leadin' citizen, Mr. Jake Grimshaw, proprietor of The Long Horn Saloon.
"'Which if it ain't my six-shooter eye which's out, says the Yallerhouse party, mighty ugly, 'do you know what I'd do? Well, this yere would be the basis of a first-class gun-play. You can gamble thar wouldn't be no jim-crow marshal go pirootin' 'round, losin' no eye of mine an' gettin' away with it, an' then talk of bendin' guns on me; none whatever. "But it all preys on Jack.
"Nobody hurt much, which's shore some strange," he said. "The Kid young Fuller thet I was tellin' you about he was drinkin' an' losin'. Lost his nut, too, callin' Bud Marsh thet way. Bud's as straight at cards as any of 'em. Somebody grabbed Bud, who shot into the roof. An' Fuller's arm was knocked up. He only hit a greaser."
An' the years have proved to me there's hope for the worst of men.... I haven't even had a talk with this Buster Jack. I don't know him, except by hearsay. An' I'm sure prejudiced, which's no wonder, considerin' where I saw him in Denver.... I reckon, before I go any farther, I'd better meet this Belllounds boy an' see what's in him."
He'll need 'em if he gits across into the Black Lake country, which's worse some ways than Thunder Mountain forest't ain't never been touched, an' bad lands, an' " Murray's entrance interrupted this speech, which was becoming painful to her guest, in spite of the good woman's resolution to say nothing discouraging.
He comes here once in a while to see Bland. They're friends, which's shore strange. Do you see thet greaser there the one with gold an' lace on his sombrero? Thet's Manuel, a Mexican bandit. He's a great gambler. Comes here often to drop his coin. Next to him is Bill Marr the feller with the bandana round his head. Bill rode in the other day with some fresh bullet-holes.
I b'lieve it's much's ef 'twas in the Bible, after all she told me, and read me out of a Physiology, an' it stands to natur', which's more'n the old way o' talkin did." This new, strong current of the divinest of truths, stirred the very veins of the village.
"Wade, I've heerd of you fer years. Some bad, but most good, an' I reckon I'm jest as glad to meet you as if you'd been somebody else." "You'll give me the job?" "I should smile." "I'm thankin' you. Reckon I was some worried. Jobs are hard for me to get an' harder to keep." "Thet's not onnatural, considerin' the hell which's said to camp on your trail," replied Belllounds, dryly.
"Your attention is so vitally concentrated on this question." "I did try!" answered Platonov with a cheerless smile. "But nothing came of it. I started writing and at once became entangled in various 'whats, 'which's, 'was's. The epithets prove flat. The words grow cold on the page. It's all a cud of some sort.
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