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"I reckon he's a maverick, 'though yu put yore brand on him up to Santa Fe a couple of years back. Since he's throwed back on yore range I reckon he's yourn if yu wants him." "I reckon Tex is some sore," remarked Hopalong, rolling a cigarette. "I reckon he is," replied the proprietor, tossing Buck's quarter in the cash box. "But, say, you should oughter see his rig." "Yaas?"
It was not safe for Yellow Bird to remain entirely beyond their protection. There were bears prowling about. And human beasts occasionally found their way through the wilderness. But Slim Buck's face was like a bronze carving in its faith and pride. "Yellow Bird only goes with the good spirits," he assured Jolly Roger. "She does not do witchcraft with the bad.
Then, all at once, he saw Buck's small triplane rise at a marvelous speed, while from the south came several other planes, almost skimming the ground in their onward rush. Also, still further on, was a confused mass that was struggling rearward, though what it could be was puzzling. It was still too dark to distinguish things clearly when unaided by the fires.
"I knows dat we ride and dat dere's chuck a-plenty," smiled Gus, "and whichever way it is," he added lowering his voice and chuckling, "can't be no worse dan Buck's place fur me." "Do you want to go?" "Well, I ain't a settin' up nights a longin' to, but to oblige a friend, Mr. Buck, I allowed meself to be persuaded." "Well, we'll see," said Ned. Ned rather wanted to watch this young man.
Now, you see you saved these things so someone deserving could use them, but if they had stayed in the attic until the moths had eaten them up while old Billy went ragged then that would have been wasteful hoarding." "I'm not minding so much about your Grandfather Buck's things, but somehow it seems a desecration for that old darkey to be wearing your Grandfather Knight's trousers."
"One done for," roared Jim in delight. "Peg away, boys. We may come safe yet." The words were scarcely out of his mouth when Buck let out a yell of alarm. "Say," cried Buck, "there's one here. He's got hold of the pony." Buck's words were drowned by the loud shrill squeal of affright from the pony, whose off-hind leg had been seized by the second of the vast brutes to attack the party.
I'm going to leave a trail of pajamas and knickerbockers from Duluth to Canton." "You! No, you won't!" A dull, painful red had swept into T. A. Buck's face. It was answered by a flood of scarlet in Mrs. McChesney's countenance. "I don't get you," she said. "I'm afraid you don't realize what this trip means. It's going to be a fight.
Told me to pass the word around. He's after somebody by the name of Drones, Dock or Jock Drones." Slip started, turned white, and his jaws parted. Buck's eyes opened a little wider. "S'all right, Slip! Keep your money in your belt, to be ready to run or swim. It's a long river." Slip could not trust himself to speak.
"'And we find, on referring to your order, that the goods you mention " Hortense would prompt patiently. "Oh, yes, of course," with an effort. Hortense was beginning to grow alarmed. In T. A. Buck's office, just across the hall, the change was quite as noticeable, but in another way. His leisurely drawl was gone. His deliberate manner was replaced by a brisk, quick-thinking, quick-speaking one.
In spite of Buck's futile struggles, he held it there firmly while the two men moved out of sight down the trail. His face, which still bore the fading marks of Buck's fists, was a trifle pale, but hard and determined, and in his eyes triumph and a curious, nervous shrinking struggled for mastery. But as the moments dragged on leaden wings, not a word passed his tight lips.
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