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Updated: June 6, 2025
"Hell's fire, Blackburn," protested Shorty; "ain't there somebody else can ride a damned horse? I'm aimin' to salivate some of them skunks!" "Orders is orders, Shorty," growled Blackburn, coldly. "You're goin', an' you're goin' right this minute or I'm goin' to bust you in the eye!" "Well, if you put it that way," grimly grinned Shorty.
"Now, Doctor," said old Jerry, "I ain't aimin' to keep anythin' back twixt you'n me, but there's certain things, you understan', that I can't it wan't Teeny-bits but further'n that " "All right, Jerry," said the Head. "I respect your point of view. Go on with your story."
That's the outside of the store. "'Well, stranger, says Dave in reply, takin' of the towerist one side, 'I ain't aimin' to discourage you none, but you-alls has gone an' got all tangled up in your lariat. "'What for an ontanglement is it? asks the towerist. "'Nothin', says Dave, sorter breakin' it to him easy, 'nothin', only you've done married your daughter to one of them Injuns.
In the morning it was old John Runnels himself who brought me my cell breakfast, and he did it to spare me the shame of being served by the police-station turnkey. Past that, he sat on the edge of the iron cot and talked to me while I tried to eat. "They was aimin' to telegraph the sheriff and have you railroaded slap up to the county seat las' night, but I told 'em nary," he confided.
"'So far from you-all livin' with us, Shotgun, says Jack Moore, who's depooted to give Shotgun Dowling the rein; 'so far from you bunkin' in yere for good, we ain't even aimin' to permit your visits. My notion is that you better pull your freight some instant.
Your dad told me things was in a mixup over here with Deveny an' some more of his kind; an' I ain't aimin' to let you go ramblin' around in the dark. "About half the Rancho Seco men belong to Deveny's gang, Linton says. That's why I put Linton in Lawson's place; an' that's why I'm askin' you to stick pretty close to the Rancho Seco, an' requestin' you not to go rummagin' around the country."
"Snowin'," observed one of the chronic visitors of the saloon door. There are always two or three of such in every Western gathering. "One of you boys saddle my bronc," suddenly requested Alfred, and began to examine his firearms by the light of the saloon lamp. "Yo' ain't aimin' to set out to-night?" they asked, incredulously. "I am.
"Unconscious?" asked the Hawk, surprised. "You fought, and they knocked you out?" The big negro looked sheepish and scratched his woolly head. "Well, no suh," he explained. "I was aimin' to butt in some, but they wouldn't let me." "Then how did you get unconscious?" Friday fidgeted. He was acutely embarrassed. "Don't know, suh, Dog-gone, I just can't figure it, unless I fainted." "Oh."
Sammy, too, when her big companion was not near, suffered from the crude wit of her friends. "Ollie Stewart don't own me yet," she declared with a toss of the head, when someone threatened to write her absent lover. "No," replied one of her tormentors, "but you ain't aimin' to miss your chance o' goin' t' th' city t' live with them big-bugs."
Then he sat down to eat lunch right by, and every few moments he'd fire a shot into some part or another, experimentin' an' aimin' not to kill it for awhile. I heard the shootin' an' blattin', an when I come up I tell ye it set my blood a-boilin'. I called him some names men don't like, an' put that Deer out o' pain quick as I could pull trigger.
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