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A Waif of the Plains | Bret Harte | |
Chapter VI |
Page 4 of 9 |
A few days later, Jim again casually favored him with a confidential interview. Clarence had been allowed to bestride one of the team leaders postillionwise, and was correspondingly elevated, when Jim joined him, on the Mexican plug, which appeared-- no doubt a part of its wicked art--heavily docile, and even slightly lame. "How much," said Jim, in a tone of gloomy confidence,--"how much did you reckon to make by stealin' that gal-baby, sonny?" "Nothing," replied Clarence with a smile. Perhaps it was an evidence of the marked influence that Jim was beginning to exert over him that he already did not attempt to resent this fascinating implication of grownup guilt. "It orter bin a good job, if it warn't revenge," continued Jim moodily. "No, it wasn't revenge," said Clarence hurriedly. "Then ye kalkilated ter get er hundred dollars reward ef the old man and old woman hadn't bin scelped afore yet got up to 'em?" said Jim. "That's your blamed dodgasted luck, eh! Enyhow, you'll make Mrs. Peyton plank down suthin' if she adopts the babby. Look yer, young feller," he said, starting suddenly and throwing his face forward, glaring fiendishly through his matted side-locks, "d'ye mean ter tell me it wasn't a plant--a skin game--the hull thing?" "A what?" said Clarence. "D'ye mean to say"--it was wonderful how gratuitously husky his voice became at this moment--"d'ye mean ter tell me ye didn't set on them Injins to wipe out the Silsbees, so that ye could hev an out-an'-out gal ORFEN on hand fer Mrs. Peyton ter adopt--eh?" |
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A Waif of the Plains Bret Harte |
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