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Hendryx, James B., 1880-1963

"The Texan A Story of the Cattle Country"

'Tain't none of my
business. I couldn't name none of you. You don't need to be scairt of
me."
"You beat it, then, an' lose yerself an' don't yer go stirrin' up no
rookus over to the dance, er we'll dangle you a little, too."
"Sure. I'm a-goin' now. I----"
"Fork over that key first!"
"Sure, Tex! Here it is----"
"Sure _who_!" rasped a voice close to the sheriff's ear.
"I mean--I said---- Here's the doggone key! I was thinkin' of a
feller I know'd down to Wyomin'. Tex--Tex--Smith, er some such of a
name it was. I mistrusted you was him, an' mebbe you be fer all I
know. I don't savvy none of you whatever."
"Get a move on, Sam!"
"Me! I'm gone! An' you boys remember when 'lection time comes, to
vote fer a sheriff that's got disgression an' common sense." And with
ludicrous alacrity, the deputy scrambled from the platform and
disappeared into the deep blackness of the lumber-yard.
The Texan fitted the key into the huge padlock and a moment later the
door swung open and a dozen cowpunchers swarmed in.
"Come on, pilgrim, an' try on yer necktie!"
"We'll prob'ly have to haul down all them wool-sacks an' drag him out
from behind 'em."
"I think not. If I am the man you want I think you will find me
perfectly able to walk." The pilgrim stood leaning against one of the
wooden supporting posts, and as a cowboy thrust the lantern into his
face he noted the eyes never faltered.


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