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Updated: June 7, 2025
But when finally, a bit of limestone the size of a chestnut hit the lad fairly on the top of his head and bounded off, he sprang up from where he had been sitting, with an exclamation of impatience. Moving slightly to one side, Tad peered cautiously upward. He was gratified a moment later by a sight of Stacy Brown's red face peeking over at him. "Hi, yi, yi, yi!" exploded Tad Butler.
Stacy, the New York alderman, who expressed the broadest astonishment at his presence there, and was anxious to know if it would break up his own mission to the castle. Hepworth reassured him on this point, and gave some additional directions, which the alderman accepted with nods and chuckles of self-sufficiency, that were a little repulsive to the younger and more refined man.
By this time, the second Indian had recovered from the blow that Stacy had landed on his jaw, and he too was in his saddle in a twinkling, tearing madly cross the plain. Stacy Brown uttered a series of wild whoops and yells. He knew their assailants were running and that some one was shooting at the Indians, but who it was the fat boy could only guess.
"Did have." "Did have what?" urged Walter. "A fellow has to have a map to follow you." "Did have something up their sleeves." "What was it you think they had up their sleeves?" asked Tad, eyeing the fat boy with growing suspicion. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe it was insects." "Stacy!" rebuked the professor sternly.
Who said eat?" cried the fat boy, struggling to his feet with difficulty, his head whirling from the effort of pulling himself awake so suddenly. "I did. It's night." "You don't say," wondered Ned, looking around in surprise. "I I thought I was back home in Chillicothe." "Dreams, dreams," muttered Stacy. "No Professor yet, eh?" "No. I believe he is lost.
"Joe Hawk find trail of canoe on river at sun-up," answered the Indian tersely. "A trail on the river?" demanded Stacy, suddenly breaking into uproarious laughter, which died away in an indistinct gurgle when he found the eyes of his companions fixed sternly upon him. "Funny place to find a trail," he muttered, threatening to indulge in another fit of merriment.
I cried bitterly, and asked Miss Stacy to forgive me and I'd never do such a thing again; and I offered to do penance by never so much as looking at Ben Hur for a whole week, not even to see how the chariot race turned out. But Miss Stacy said she wouldn't require that, and she forgave me freely. So I think it wasn't very kind of her to come up here to you about it after all."
Why, every time I have to cook one it makes me sick; it does." "Indians? Do you cook Indians?" asked Stacy, who had been an interested listener to the conversation. "Wha wha cook Indians? No! I cook mutton. What do you take me for?" "I I I didn't know," muttered Stacy meekly. "Thought I heard you say you did." "You got another think coming," growled the cook, limping away.
We're just about taking her to the flat to identify the Grayson woman. Would you like to come along?" he added in a spirit of bravado. "I think you are a material witness in the Stacy case, anyhow." Constance felt bitterly her defeat. Still she went with them. There was always a chance that something might turn up.
"I make it so as to get all the heat into the tent instead of sending the heat up into the air where it will do no good." "Heap good. You good Indian." "That's what he is, Anvil, he's an Indian," cried Stacy. "I seem to be a good many things in this camp," laughed Tad. "Any further compliments you can pay me, Stacy?"
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