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Yes, sir, Webb, you're a prince- consort; and if I was you, I'd start a interregnum or a habeus corpus or somethin'; and I'd be king if I had to turn from the bottom of the deck." Baldy emptied his glass to the ratification of his Warwick pose. "Baldy," said Webb, solemnly, "me and you punched cows in the same outfit for years.
"Come and Kiss Me, Ma Honey," sang Shorty, who carried tintypes in his pocket and wore a red necktie while working on his claim. "Bought a saloon?" suggested Thirsty Rogers. "Cherokee took me to a room," continued Baldy, "and showed me. He's got that room full of drums and dolls and skates and bags of candy and jumping-jacks and toy lambs and whistles and such infantile truck.
"That you, Baldy?" shouted a voice out of the cloud of powder smoke that hid, for a moment, the cowboys from view. "That's who it is, Bow!" was the answer. "Could you read my smoke?" "I sure could, and we come a-runnin'. Are the girls safe?" "Everybody's safe. But look out for yourself, these Indians are sort of riled at us."
They shouted and called, but the Curlytops were too far away to hear or to answer, even if they had been awake. "Well, now we can make a better hunt," said Baldy, when he saw the sun beginning to rise. "Well get something to eat and start out from the spring in the rocks. I'm almost sure the Curlytops were there." Mrs.
Then, too, she was not in the least discriminating, and told Tom, who perhaps had as many faults as any member of the team, that he had an "angel face"; spoke of Dick and Harry, clever imitators of their brother's misdeeds, as "The Heavenly Twins"; and alluded to Irish and Rover, gentle Irish Setters, as "Red Devils," which was so rankly unjust that Baldy, who knew not automobiles, was amazed at her stupidity.
"Of course," said George, looking thoughtfully at Baldy, who was lying contentedly at Ben's feet, and giving voice to the wisdom of "Scotty" or Matt in such discussions, "of course, in a dog that's goin' in for the Big Race, you got t' have more'n speed. You can't depend on just that for four hundred and eight miles.
When they released the ropes it lay down and wouldn't get up. The round-up had started; so Sylvane gave me his horse, Baldy, which sometimes bucked but never went over backwards, and he got on the now rearisen Ben Butler. To my discomfiture Ben started quietly beside us, while Sylvane remarked, "Why, there's nothing the matter with this horse; he's a plumb gentle horse."
The ocean seems so close one could throw a pebble over into it. How a mountain does reduce distances. You throw the pebble and it falls upon your toes! And Mount Lowe is but a shelf on the side of the higher Sierras. The granite mountains rise higher to the northward, and to the east rises "Old Baldy," twelve thousand feet high and snow eternally on his head.
The cinder-path! cried the prefect of studies. I know that trick. Stephen lifted his eyes in wonder and saw for a moment Father Dolan's white-grey not young face, his baldy white-grey head with fluff at the sides of it, the steel rims of his spectacles and his no-coloured eyes looking through the glasses. Why did he say he knew that trick? Lazy idle little loafer! cried the prefect of studies.
"Did you ever get captured by the Indians?" asked Teddy. "Well, yes, once I was," answered the cowboy. "Oh, tell us about it!" begged the little Curlytop chap. "I love to hear stories about Indians! Don't you, Jan?" "I like stories yes," said the little girl. "But if you're going to tell a story about Indians, Mr. Baldy, maybe it'll be a scary one, and I don't like scary stories."
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