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Bower, B. M., 1871-1940

"The Gringos"

Maybe that would have been just as well, seeing how
things have turned out," he grinned. "Still--have a smoke?"
"I never used tobacco in my life," declined the youth somewhat primly.
"No, I don't reckon you ever did!" Jack eyed him with a certain amount
of pitying amusement. "A fellow that will come gold-hunting without a
gun to his name, would not use tobacco, or swear, or do anything that
a perfect lady couldn't do! However, you put up a good fight with your
fists, old man, and that's something."
"I'd have been killed, though, if you hadn't shot when you did. They
were too much for me. I haven't tried to thank you--"
"No, I shouldn't think you would," grinned Jack. "I don't see yet
where I've done you any particular favor: from robbers to Vigilance
Committee might be called an up-to-date version of 'Out of the
frying-pan into the fire.'"
The boy glanced fearfully toward the closed tent-flaps. "Ssh!" he
whispered. "The guard can hear--"
"Oh, that's all right," returned Jack, urged perhaps to a conscious
bravado by the very weakness of the other. "It's all day with me,
anyway. I may as well say what I think.
"And so--" He paused to blow one of his favorite little smoke rings
and watch it float to the dingy ridge-pole, where it flickered and
faded into a blue haze "--and so, I'm going to say right out in
meeting what I think of this town and the Committee they let measure
out justice.


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