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Updated: September 25, 2025
"Sure!" said Fagan. "An' over-soaked is what I say. Thim water goats has all th' looks of bein' soaked too long. I would not say positive, Yer Honour, but that is th' looks of thim. If me own mother was t' ask me I would say th' same, Dugan. 'Soakin' too long done it, is what I would say." "You are a fool, Fagan!" exclaimed the big mayor.
"Go on home an' sleep it off!" and the little alderman from the Fourth Ward picked up his hat and coat, and obeyed his orders. Instituting a new public park and seeing that in every purchase and every contract there is a rake-off for the ring is a big job, and between this and the fight against the rapidly increasing strength of the reform party, Mayor Dugan had his hands more than full.
"We shall certainly have to start another search. The question is where to begin," mused the judge, and just then, catching sight of Officer Dugan, his mind reverting to the latter's inexcusable blunder, he gave the chagrined minion of the law a severe reprimand. How far the angry judge might have proceeded is not known, for just at this moment Pepper appeared in the doorway.
Of coorse," he added, putting his mouth close to Toole's ear, and winking at Grevemeyer, "ye will see that there is a rake-off for me an' th' byes." "Sure!" said Toole. The big mayor turned back to the bar and took a drink from his glass. Grevemeyer took a drink from his glass, also. So did Toole, gravely. Dugan wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and turned to Toole again.
A bullet chipped away a splinter of wood beside me as I ran. I found Dugan stretched on one of the long saloon seats, already being ministered to by Morgan and Evelyn. Alderson had locked one door and was on guard at the other, cutlas and revolver in hand. "Well done, Alderson. That's the way to keep a lookout," I sang out cheerfully. "Thank you, sir. Were you hit?
At any rate, if it's agreeable to you, Slim, I'd like to shake hands and call everything square. But if there's going to be any ill will, let's have it out right now." Slim Dugan wrung the hand of Terry without hesitation. "If you put it that way," he said cordially, "I don't mind saying that I was damned wrong to heave that stone at the hoss. And I apologize, Terry."
A collection of Historical poems by different authors, such as O Dugan, etc., and some extracts, as they seem, from the psalter of Cashill, written by Cormac-mac-Cuilinan, Archbishop and King of Leath Mogha, towards the beginning or middle of the ninth century; Cobhach O Carmon and O Heagusa have their part in these poems.
Every time he lost himself; there were visions of a young girl dashing along the streets, with Mike Dugan holding the reins of a restive horse, and as he attempted to reach the maiden, she would smile sweetly upon her companion, and turn from him with a contemptuous expression. Poor Pat! What a world of useless sighing and trouble!
Th' swim has been soaked clean out of thim." "Are they sick?" asked the big mayor. "What is th' matter with thim?" "They do look sick," agreed Fagan, breaking the bad news gently. "I should say they look mighty sick, Dugan. If they looked anny sicker, I would be afther lookin' for a place t' bury thim in. An' I am lookin' for th' place now."
Dugan got a ball through the body at the first fire that paralyzed him. He was conscious, but could n't move. The rest was up to Hamlin. You ought to have heard Dugan tell it when he got so he could speak. Hamlin dragged the boy down into a buffalo wallow, shot both horses, and got behind them. It was all done in the jerk of a lamb's tall.
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