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Updated: May 8, 2025
"Hey, you cow-wrastlers!" said a not unpleasant voice, and they turned suspiciously as it continued: "You've shore got to hang up them guns with the hotel clerk while you cavorts around on this range. This is fence country." They regarded the speaker's smiling face and twinkling eyes and laughed. "Well, yo're the foreman if you owns that badge," grinned Hopalong, cheerfully.
There was so great an alteration in him, in fact, that Bess softened toward him visibly. She secretly bestowed the best morsels upon him, and even went so far as to attempt conversation. "Let yo're work go a bit," she advised: "yo're noan fit fur it."
They were uncertain propositions, every measly one of them. "Shore it's all right," went on the 88 manager. "I ain't meaning no harm. Yo're taking a lot for granted, Racey, a whole lot for granted." "Nemmine what I'm taking for granted," flung back Racey. "I get along with taking only what's mine, anyway." Which was equivalent to saying that Lanpher was a thief.
Molly Brunton gave vent to her opinion on Sylvia's speech in the following words: 'Hoighty-toighty! That tells tales, lass. If yo' treated steady Philip to many such looks an' speeches as yo'n given us now, it's easy t' see why he took hisself off. Why, Sylvia, I niver saw it in yo' when yo' was a girl; yo're grown into a regular little vixen, theere wheere yo' stand!
"I cayn't stand it," she blurted out, half crying; "she's gwine entirely too fur!" She pushed his hands down and stood glaring at Mrs. Dawson. "Look a heer, Sue Dawson," she said, getting her breath fast, "yo're a older woman an' me, an' I've got due respect fer age an' a gray head, but John Westerfelt is my friend, an' is a-visitin' of me 'n' Luke at present.
Yo' see, sir, though I were sore set again' him, I shouldn't like harm to happen him. 'There is something behind all this that I do not understand. Can thee tell me what it is? 'I must, sir, if yo're to help me wi' your counsel; and I came up here to ask for it.
"Play for yore last red when you don't know where to turn for another, an' have all the crowd thinkin' yo're goin' broke as they watch the play? An' then you slap down a card they've all overlooked an' larf in the other chap's face? "That's what I'm goin' to do with Carlsen.
"No," said Mr. Pooley, "it won't be a check. It won't be anything, you worm." So saying Mr. Pooley laid violent hands on McFluke, yanked him out of the bunk, and flung him sprawling on the floor. "Not one cent do you get from me," declared Mr. Pooley. "I never paid blackmail yet and I ain't beginning now. I always told Harpe you'd upset the applecart with yo're bullheaded ways.
"That ain't a reason, no good reason, anyway. I'm telling you flat, y' understand, that so long as we gotta take root here instead of going to Arizona like we'd planned it out so long's yo're gonna renig on the play like I say, the best thing we can do is string our chips with Jack Harpe's." "That yore idea of a bright thing to do, huh?" questioned Racey, his nimble fingers busy with the rawhide.
Petticoats is always lingery, but lingery ain't always petticoats. See?" "I don't. I don't see a-tall. I think yo're goin' crazy. That's what I think. Nemmine. Nemmine. If you say lingery at me again I won't let you introduce me to yore girl." "She ain't my girl," denied Racey, reddening. "But you'd like her to be, huh? Shore. What does she think about it? Which one of 'em is she?"
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