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Cullum, Ridgwell, [pseud.], 1867-1943

"The Forfeit"


Bud had less scruples in his anxious impatience.
"Say, that ain't no sort o' way to wake him, Nan," he whispered
hoarsely. Then in his deep gruff voice he displayed his better
understanding. "Say, Jeff! You ken hear me, boy. You're jest
foolin'. Say, hark to this. You beat 'em. You beat 'em
single-handed, an' shot 'em plumb down."
Curiously enough there was almost instant result, and Bud's
satisfaction became evident. The staring eyes relaxed their regard of
the starry heavens. The lids flickered, then the eyes themselves
turned in the direction whence came those sonorous tones.
"You ken hear?"
Bud's words came on the instant, and were full of triumph. Then he
turned to the girl who had promptly relinquished Jeff's hand.
"We ain't got a thing to hand him, 'cep' it's water," he said
half-angrily. "We can't jest move him, not nothin', till the boys git
along with the wagon, an' that blamed dope merchant gits around. What
in hell ken we do?"
"Wait."
Nan's finality robbed her father of his complaint.


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