Genre - Western. You are on the page - 18

it too mooch col' in wintaire, but, voila! Better A'm lak I freeze l'il bit as burn oop!"The Texan laughed. "I don't blame you none. I never be'n down to Yuma but they tell me it's hell on wheels. Go ahead an' deal, Pedro." "Pedro, non! Ma moder she nam' Moon Eye, an' ma fader she Cross-Cut Lajune. Derefor', A'm Batiste Xavier Jean Jacques de Beaumont Lajune." The bottle thumped upon the table top. "What the hell is that, a name or a song?" "Me, das ma

ry!glory!" he continued, with fluent vacuity and wandering, dull,observant eyes."But if I had a little more practice in class, Brother Silas, moreeducation?" "The letter killeth," interrupted Brother Silas. Here hiswandering eyes took dull cognizance of two female faces peeringthrough the opening of the tent. "No, yer mishun, Brother Gideon,is to seek Him in the by-ways, in the wilderness,--where the foxeshev holes and the ravens hev their young,--but not in the

of him was as near murder as Wearycould come. Glory had been belabored with worse things than hatsduring his eventful career; he laid back his ears, shut his eyes tightand took it meekly.There came a gasping gurgle from the hammock, and Weary's hand stoppedin mid-air. The girl's head was burrowed in a pillow and her slipperstapped the floor while she laughed and laughed. Weary delivered a parting whack, put on his hat and looked at heruncertainly; grinned sheepishly when the humor of the thing

e foreman."Brought my tooth-brush," said Lin, showing it in the breast-pocket of his flannel shirt. "Going to Denver?" "Why, maybe." "Take in San Francisco?" "Sounds slick." "Made any plans?" "Gosh, no!" "Don't want anything on your brain?" "Nothin' except my hat, I guess," said Lin, and broke into cheerful song: "'Twas a nasty baby anyhow, And it only died to spite us; 'Twas afflicted with the

e than any other of the owner's treasures. It was, curiously enough, to this little heap of literature that Wid Gardner presently turned.Forgetful of the hour and of his waiting cows, he sat down, a copy in his hands, his face taking on a new sort of light as he read. At times, as lone men will, he broke out into audible soliloquy. Now and again his hand slapped his knee, his eye kindled, he grinned. The pages were ill-printed, showing many paragraphs, apparently of advertising nature, in fine