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Updated: June 17, 2025
"'Magine me, Blue Pete, bes' shot in the Badlands, an' Canada, too, fer that matter least that's so, now Dutchy's gone, an' it was nip 'n' tuck between us 'magine me, cow-puncher from my born days, sometime rustler, sometime Mounted P'lice detective, sometime oh, sometime pretty near everythin' with a horse in it, an' a rifle, an' a rope 'magine me workin' 'longside a gang o' Dagoes 'n' Poles that think a knife's fer stickin' people, an' a rifle fer the P'lice . . . me shovin' rocks 'n' logs into a hole in the groun' that won't fill this side everlastin'! . . . Kin yuh 'magine it, ole woman?
Shorty gulped and changed his thought. "Huh! I don't need no hunch to guess HER name. The rest of 'em has gone up to the drainin' of Surprise Lake, but Joy Gastell allowed she wouldn't go. She's stickin' around Dawson, waitin' to see if I come back with you.
"If that's so," he remarked calmly, "I'm in a half dollar, and that's some satisfaction. But say, what a time we'll have tellin' the boys. Wow! I can see the eyes of Little Billie, and Curly, and Nuthin just stickin' out of their heads when they hear all we've run up against." "And we'd better move along a little faster while about it," observed Paul. "Why?
But there wuzn't nothin' but some children's heads and feet stickin' about, and I hastened to that nose and poked the sand from it with my umbrell cryin': "Dear Josiah! Is this indeed your nose? Have I found you at last?"
And some mon gets knocked nigh endways when they bring his best tyke home i' th' mornin', dead, wi' the sheep's wool yet stickin' in his mouth." The postman whistled again. "It's what owd Wrottesley'd tell on to a tick. And he'd say, if ye mind, Master, as hoo the dog'd niver kill his master's sheep kind o' conscience-like." "Ay, I've heard that," said the Master.
I knew we'd get yuh sooner or later, if yuh kept stickin' yore nose in other folks' business." "Blacksnake," said The Kid softly, "yo're a cheap, fo'-flushin' bully." Blacksnake's evil eyes went hard. His face reddened with anger, then paled. He was trembling with fury and deadly hate. He turned to his men. "Take the others up to the Yellow Houses and wait for me there," he rasped.
"Sure thing." "Well, after you unload, drive around by the other barn and get Ben. He's in the corral. Tell Matthews to be easy with 'm. An' get a gun. Sammy's got one. You'll have to see to the big roan. I ain't got time now. Why couldn't Matthews a-come along with you for Ben? You'd save time." "Oh, he's just stickin' around waitin'," the driver answered. "He reckoned I could get Ben."
Even had not sense of discipline precluded, that of a certain inhuman atmosphere made fearful creatures of them all. "Then," said I, "I must do it myself." I turned once more to the stiff-strung figure, had actually put hand on it, when an exclamation from Vokins arrested me. "There's a key there, sir!" he said "stickin' out yonder between its feet."
"Waal," said Byers, leaning back against the wall of the smoke- house, and holding the knife idly poised in his hand, "I kem down ter the tanyard betimes that mornin' arter the storm. Both ye an' Birt war late. I noticed Nate Griggs's coat hangin' thar in the shed, with a paper stickin' out'n the pocket, ez I started inter the smoke-house ter tend ter the fire.
And, as I said, ye may take it on trust that that's been ane o' the men killed there, and that it's been the gipsies that took your pockmanky when they fand the chaise stickin' in the snaw; they wadna pass the like o' that, it wad just come to their hand like the bowl o' a pint stoup.
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