Indeed, there is some reason now to believe that
this desirable result was rendered doubly certain, for as Moffat moved
slowly past the Occidental on his way home, a person attired in chaps
and sombrero, and greatly resembling McNeil, was in the back room,
breathing some final instructions to a few bosom friends.
"Now don't--eh--any o' you fellers--eh--go an' forget the place. Jump
in--eh--lively. Just afore she--eh--gits ter thet thick
bunch--eh--underbrush, whar' the trail sorter--eh--drops down inter the
ravine. An' you chumps wanter--eh--git--yerselves up so she can't pipe
any of ye off--eh--in this yere--eh--road-agent act. I tell ye, after
what thet--eh--Moffat's bin a-pumpin' inter her, she's just got ter
be--eh--rescued, an' in blame good style, er--eh--it ain't no go."
"Oh, you rest easy 'bout all thet, Bill," chimed in Sandy Winn, his
black eyes dancing in anticipation of coming fun. "We 'll git up the
ornariest outfit whut ever hit the pike."
The long shadows of the late afternoon were already falling across the
gloomy Carter woods, while the red sun sank lower behind old Bull
Mountain.
Pages:
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322