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We'll step into this room, and be married at once," MacQueen told him crisply. "I don't know about that. I'm not marrying folks that can't be looked at." "You'll marry us, and at once. I'm Black MacQueen!" It was ludicrous to see how the justice of the peace fell back in terror before the redoubtable bad man of the hills.
Mention was made of the Earse translation of the New Testament, which has been lately published, and of which the learned Mr. Macqueen of Sky spoke with commendation; but Mr. Maclean said he did not use it, because he could make the text more intelligible to his auditors by an extemporary version. From this I inferred, that the language of the translation was not the language of the Isle of Col.
"We'll get off here and walk in," he ordered; and, after she had dismounted, he picketed the horses close to the road. "You can send for yours in the mornin'. Mine will be in the livery barn by that time." The streets were practically deserted in the residential part of the town. Only one man they saw, and at his approach MacQueen drew Melissy behind a large lilac bush.
MacQueen padded across till he faced her. "Don't make any mistake, girl. You're mine. I don't care how. If it suits you to have a priest mumble words over us, good enough. But I'm the man you've got to get ready to love." "I hate you." "That's a good start, you little catamount." "I'd rather die a thousand times rather." "Not you, my dear.
Then he went forward and looked down at him. "I reckon that ends Black MacQueen," he said quietly. "And I reckon Melissy Lee is a widow." Jack Flatray had met O'Connor at his own office and the two had come down to the station on the off chance that MacQueen might try to make his getaway from Mesa in some disguise.
Jack gave a sudden exclamation of surprise. "So it was Black MacQueen himself who posed as O'Connor down at Mesa." "Guessed it right, my friend. And I'll tell you one thing: you've made the mistake of your life butting into Dead Man's Cache. Your missing friend O'Connor was due to hand in his checks to-day. Since you've taken his place it will be you that crosses the divide, Mr. Sheriff.
"Well, I don't know as a light is a legal necessity; but we got to have witnesses." "Have you any in the house?" "My daughter and a girl friend of hers are sleeping upstairs. I'll call them, Mr. Black er I mean Mr. MacQueen." The outlaw went with the squire to the foot of the stairs, whence Latimer wakened the girls and told them to dress at once, as quickly as possible.
If you lift a hand to slip that handkerchief from your eyes, you're giving the signal for Jeff to turn loose at you. We're going to take you away, but we don't aim to let you out of the Cache for a few days yet." "What do you mean?" MacQueen jeered at his prisoner openly. "I mean, Mr. Sheriff, that you'll stay with us till the girl does as she has promised. Understand?"
Boone saddled and rode out of the Cache without another word to anybody. Sullen and vindictive he might be, but cowed he certainly seemed. MacQueen celebrated by frequent trips to his sleeping quarters, where each time he resorted to a bottle and a glass. No man had ever seen him intoxicated, but there were times when he drank a good deal for a few days at a stretch.
If they knew of anything homicidal in their lot, certainly they bore it with a fine humorous courage. Down the aisle between the black rows, Cally picked her way after Hugo and Mr. MacQueen. Considering that all this was her father's, she felt abashingly out of place, most intrusive; when she caught a dusky face turned upon her she hastily looked another way.
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