[A Waif of the Plains by Bret Harte]@TWC D-Link bookA Waif of the Plains CHAPTER IX 2/14
Ye ain't goin' to be skeert, or afeard, or lose yer sand, I kalkilate, for skunkin' ain't in your breed.
Well, wot ef I told ye that thish yer--thish yer--COUSIN o' yours was the biggest devil onhung; that he'd just killed a man, and had to lite out elsewhere, and THET'S why he didn't show up in Sacramento--what if I told you that ?" Clarence felt that this was somehow a little too much.
He was perfectly truthful, and lifting his frank eyes to Flynn, he said, "I should think you were talking a good deal like Jim Hooker!" His companion stared, and suddenly reined up his horse; then, bursting into a shout of laughter, he galloped ahead, from time to time shaking his head, slapping his legs, and making the dim woods ring with his boisterous mirth.
Then as suddenly becoming thoughtful again, he rode on rapidly for half an hour, only speaking to Clarence to urge him forward, and assisting his progress by lashing the haunches of his horse. Luckily, the boy was a good rider--a fact which Flynn seemed to thoroughly appreciate--or he would have been unseated a dozen times. At last the straggling sheds of Buckeye Mills came into softer purple view on the opposite mountain.
Then laying his hand on Clarence's shoulder as he reined in at his side, Flynn broke the silence. "There, boy," he said, wiping the mirthful tears from his eyes.
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