"And now I wish to state to Colonel the solemn fact that I had nothing to do with the job put up on him to-night. I scorn to use such means in a battle. Colonel, you may be as bald as an apple, or an egg, yes, or a plate, but you can play more checkers than any man I ever met; more checkers than any other man on God's green footstool. With one single, lone exception—myself."
At this moment, somebody hit the Squire from Cerro Gordo with a decayed apple, and as the crowd shouted and groaned Robie turned down the lights on the tumult. The old Colonel seized the opportunity for putting a handful of salt down Walters' neck, and slipped out of the door like a ghost. As the crowd swarmed out on the icy walk, Editor Foster yelled:
"Gents! let me give you a pointer. Keep your eye peeled for the next edition of the Rock River Morning Call."
And the bitter wind swept away the answering shouts of the pitiless gang.
[Part VII.]
DRIFTING CRANE: THE INDIAN AND THE PIONEER.
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Before them, surely, sullenly and slow, The desperate and cheated Indians go. |