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Updated: June 8, 2025
Even the whip doesn't get a single buck out of the poor rascal." The quirt slashed the flank of the piebald but it drew forth only a meek trot. The terrible Rickety went back to the corrals like a lamb! "Arizona's got a good man to beat," admitted Corson, "but he's got a chance yet. They won't get any more out of Rickety. He's not only been rode he's been broke. I could ride him myself." "Mr.
But the foot was free at last, and Calumet rose. He still held the reins in his hands, and now, as he got to his feet, he jerked out the quirt that he wore at his waist and lashed the black, vigorously, savagely. The beast rose, snorting with rage and pain, still unsubdued. His hind legs had not yet straightened when Calumet was again in the saddle.
"Cler, cler, cler, cler-ee, cler-ee!" he sang, and perked a wary eye toward the low-roofed stable. "Oh, I hear you, you sassy little sinner! I wouldn't think you'd have the nerve, after what you've done to my radishes. I'm sure going to mix with you, if you Rosa! Lift a heel at me and you die! Stand over don't you try squeezing me against the wall, or I'll take my quirt to you!
"You better go to bed," he told Her stolidly. "And if you're going to live at the Quirt, Raine, you'll have to learn to keep your mouth shut. I ain't blaming you but you told too much to Al Woodruff. Don't talk to him no more, if he comes here when I'm gone." He put out a hand, beckoning her to him, sorry for his harshness.
"It's your brand." Dan's eyes were still averted. "Sure it's my brand. There's no need for more than two eyes to see that." McLagan's quirt again began to beat his boot-leg. Jim understood the temper lying behind that nervous movement. He felt sick. "Wher' d'ye keep your brands?" "There's one here and one up in the hills, in my little implement shack, where I run my cattle.
"If they have," gritted Lone, "they made the biggest blunder of their lives bringing me over here. No, I could see they wanted to get off alone and hold a powwow. They expected she'd be at the Quirt." "I think Al Woodruff, he's maybe got her, then," Swan declared, after studying the matter briefly. "All the way he follows the trail over here, Lone. I could see you sometimes in the trail.
There was nothing to do, unless she took that queer old horse with withers like the breastbone of a lean Christmas turkey and hips that reminded her of the little roofs over dormer windows, and went for a ride. And if she did that, there was nowhere to go and nothing to do when she arrived there. In a very few days Lorraine had exhausted the sights of Quirt Creek and vicinity.
The hump-backed weaver came down close to the other horse. At the same instant Dingwell's loose arm grew rigid and the loaded end of the quirt dropped on the head of Fox. The body of Fox relaxed and the rifle slid from his nerveless fingers. Teddy stopped bucking as if a spring had been touched. Dingwell was on his own feet before the other knew what had happened.
And I never dreamed what was going to happen till he laid the quirt across my face like a knife. "All I ever hoped for was to get up so I could live long enough to kill him. He gave me that quirt till I was insane with rage; long afterward he told me my eyes turned green. I cursed him. He asked me whether I'd get up. I knew, if I didn't, I'd have to take more.
There wasn't a mile of the distance either but he felt the quirt burning in his flank and knew he was being ridden by a master. Her father scolded her at the time, and boasted about it later. "She had dozens of admirers, and the first impression I ever made on her was when she was about twenty.
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