'Tain't likely she's in Haskell just fer the climate.

Come on, boys, let's liquor.

Big Jim Westcott has his claws cut, and it's Beaton's turn to spend a little." Westcott sat quietly in the chair as they filed out; then took the pipe from his pocket and filled it slowly.

He realised his defeat, his helplessness, but his mind was already busy with the future.
Timmons came out from behind the desk a bit solicitous.
"Hurt eny ?" he asked.

"Didn't wing yer, or nuthin' ?" "No; the stove got the bullet.