The Cumby Rustler. (Cumby, Tex.), Vol. 18, No. 37, Ed. 1 Friday, December 10, 1909 Page: 3 of 8
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Trank Ii Spearman.
Hiller RATIONS BY ANDRE BOWLES
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store consciousness were unavailing.
He turned to where two of the cow-
boys had dragged Karg to the ground
and three others had their old com-
panion Seagrue in hand. While two
held huge revolvers within six inches
of his head, a third wa^ adjusting a
rope-knot under his ear.
Whispering Smith became inter-
ested. “Hold on!” said he7, mildly,
“what is loose? What are you going
to do?”
“We’re going to hang these fellows,”
answered Stormy, with a volley of
hair-raising imprecations.
Oh, no! Just put them on horses
under guard.”
That’s what -we’re going to do,”
exclaimed the foreman. “Only we’re
going to run ’em over to those cotton-
woods and drive the horses out from
tinder ’em. Stand still, you tow-headed
cow thief!” he cried, slipping the
noose up tight on George Seagrue’s
neck. ' /
See here,” returned Whispering
Smith, showing some annoyance, “you
Either
do as I tell you or release those men.”
Well, I guess we are not joking
very much. You heard me, didn’t
you?” demanded Stormy, angrily. “We
are going to string these damned crit-
ters up right here in the draw on the
first Tree.”
Whispering Smith drew a pocket-
“ SYNOPSIS.
~ Murray Sinclair and his gang of wreck-
were called out to clear the railroad
-tracks at Smoky Creek. McCloud, a
young road superintendent, caught Sin-
% ■ciabf and his men in the act of looting
the wrecked train. Sinclair pleaded in-
nocence, declaring- it only amounted to a
•small sum-a treat for the men. McCloud
•discharged the whole outfit and ordered
the wreckage burned. McCloud became
-acquainted with Dicksie Dunning, a girl
of the west, who came to look at the
wreck- “Whispering” Gordon Smith told
President Bucks of the railroad, of Mc-
Cloud’s brave fight against a gang of
crazed miners and that was the reason
for the superintendent’s appointment to
Tiis office. McCloud arranged board at
•the "boarding house of Mrs. Sinclair, the
ox-foreman’s deserted wife. Dicksie. Dun-
ning was the daughter of the late Tiich-
;&r<J Dunning, who had died of a broken
heart shortly after his wife’s demise,
which occurred after one year of mar-
ried. life. Smoky Creek bridge was mys-
teriously burned. President Bucks noti-
-fied Smith that he had work ahead. A
stock train was wrecked by an open
-switch. Later a passenger trafn was held
*ip and the express car robbed. Two men
of a posse pursuing the bandits were
deified, “Whispering Smith” approached
Sinclair. He tried to buy him off, but
trailed. He warned McCloud that his life
was in danger. McCloud was carried
"forcibly into Lance Dunning’s presence.
Dunning refused the railroad a right-of->_
■way, he had already signed for. Dicksie pmay be joking, but I am not.
Interfered to prevent a shooting affray.
"Dicksie met McCloud on a lonely trail to
warn him his life was in danger. On his
way home a shot passed through his hat.
A sudden rise of the Crawling Stone hv-
created consternation. Dicksie and Ma-
rion appealed to McCloud for help. Whis-
■pering Smith joined the group. McCloud
took his men to fight the river. Lance
Dunning welcomed them cordially. Mo-
•Oloud succeeded in halting the flood.
Dicksie and Marion visited Sinclair at his
ranch. He tried to persuade his deserted
wife to return to him. She refused. He
Accused Whispering Smith of having
(stolen her love from him. A train was
"held up and robbed, the bandits escap-
ing. Spilth and McCloud started in pur-
suit. At Baggs ranch Du Sang killed old
Baggs. Whispering Smith befriended his
ten-year-old son. They came to Williams
•Cache. Smith was certain the bandits
“Were there. He importuned Rebstock,
-*kifig of the cache," to give up Du Sang.
\ R«S$stock refused. Smith declared he
\ Would clean out the whole gang, inclu-
ding Rebstock. Smith came upon the
bandits. Du Sang among them.
V CHAPTER XXVII—Continued.
It was not the first time the Wil-
liams Cache gang had sworn to get
"him and had worked together to do it,
but for the first time it looked as if
They might do it. A single chance was
left to Whispering Smith for his life,
amd with his coat slashed with bullets,
"he took it. Fo? an instant his life
hung on the success of a trick so ap-
pallingly awkward that a clever man
might have failed in turning it. If his
yifle should play free in the scabbard
he reached for it, he could fall to
the ground, releasing it as he plunged
from the saddle, and make a fight on/
lihs feet. If the rifle failed to release
he was a dead man. To so narrow an
Issue are the cleverest combinations
sometimes brought by chance. He
-dropped his empty revolver, ducked
like a mud-hen on his horse’s neck,
threw back his leg, and, with all the
precision he could summon, 'caught
the grip of his muley in both hands.
He made his fall heavily to the
.ground, landing on his shoulder. But
as he keeled from the saddle the last
thing that roiled over the saddle, like
the flash of a porpoise fin, was the barrel
of the rifle, secure in his hands. Karg
on horseback, was already bending
(over him, revolver in hand, but the
shot was never fired. A 30-30 bullet
from the ground knocked the gun into
the air and tore every knuckle from
Karg’s hand. Du Sang spurred in
Irpm the right. A rifle-slug like an ax
at the root caught him through the
middle. His fingers stiffened. His
sig-shooter fell to the ground and he
olutched his side. Seagrue, ducking
low, put spurs to his horse, and Whis-
pering Smith, covered with dust, rose
on the battlefield alone.
Hatsi revolvers and, coats lay about
him, Face downward, the huge bulk
of Bill Dancing was stretched motion-
less in the road, karg, crouching be-
aide his fallen horse, held up the
hloody stump of his gun hand, and Du
Bang, 50 yards away, reeling like a
•drunken man in his saddle, spurred
his horse in an aimless circle. Whis-
pering Smith, running softly to the
side of bis own trembling animal,
threw himself into the saddle, and, ad-
justing his rifle sights as the beast
plunged down the draw, gave chase to
Seagrue.
put his hand on Du Sang’s hand. “Tell
me where you are hit, Du Sang. Put
your hand to it. Is it the stomach?
Let me turn you on your side. Easy.
Does your belt hurt? Just a minute,
now; I can loosen that.”
“I know you,” muttered Du Sang,
thickly. Then his eyes—terrible,
rolling, pink eyes—brightened and he
swore violently.
“Du Sang, you are not bleeding
much, but I’m afraid you are badly
hurt,” said Whispering Smith. “Is there
anything I can do for you?”
“Get me some water.”
A creek flowed at no great distance
below the hill, but the cowboys re-
fused to go for water. Whispering
Smith would have gone with Seagrue
and Karg, but Du Sang begged him
not to leave him alone lest Gorman
should kill him. Smith canvassed the
situation a moment. “I’ll put you on
my horse,” said he at length, “and
take you down to the creek.”
He turned to the cowboys and asked
them to help, but they refused to
touch Dp Sang.
Whispering Smith kept his patience.
“Karg, take that horse's head,” said
he. “Come here, Seagrue; help me
lift Du Sang on the horse. The boys
seem to be afraid of getting blood oh
their hands.”
With Whispering Smith and Sea-
grue supporting Du Sang in the saddle
a.
have placed five shots within the com-
pass of a silver dollar. Firing for
Whispering Smith’s heart, he had, de-
spite the fearful shock, put four bul-
lets through his coat before the rifle-
ball from the ground, tearing at right
angles across the path of the first but-
let, had cut down bis life to a question
of hours.
Bill Dancing, who had been hit in
the head and stunned, had been
moved back to the cabin at Mission
Springs, and lay in the little bedroom.
A doctor at Oroville had been sent
for, but had not come. At midnight
of the second day, Smith, who was be-
side his bed, saw him rouse up, and
noted the brightness of his eyes as he
looked around. “Bill,” he declared,
hopefully, as he sat beside the bed,
“you are better, hang it! I know you
are. How do you feel?”
“Ain’t that blamed doctor here yet?
Then give me my boots. I’m going
back to Medicine'Bend to Doc Torpy.”
In the morning Whispering Smith,
who had cleansed and dressed the
wound and felt sure the bullet had not
penetrated the skull, offered no objec-
tion to the proposal beyond caution-
ing him to ride slowly. “You can go
down part way with the prisoners,
Bill,” suggested Whispering Smith.
“Brill Young is going to take them
to Oroville, and you can act as chair-
man of the guard.”
Before the party started, Smith
called Seagrue to him. “George, you
saved my life once. Do you remember
—in the Pan Handle? Weil, I gave
you yours twice in the Cache day be-
fore yesterday. I don’t know how
badly you are into this thing. If you
kept clear of the killing at Tower W
I will do what I can for you. Don’t
talk to anybody.”
His Revolver Dropped to the Ground.
I,
m-
M
CHAPTER XXVIli.
The Death of bu Sang.
Whispering Smith, with his horse in
% lather, rode slowly back 20 minutes
later with Seagrue disarmed ahead of
Mm. The deserted battle-ground was
alive with men. Stormy Gorman, hot
for blood, had come back, captured
Karg, and begun swearing all over
again, and Smith listened with ami-
able surprise while he explained that
seeing Dancing killed, and not being ! dragged himself out of the blinding
able to tell from Whispering Smith's sun to the shade of the sagebrush
peculiar tactics which side he was above the rock—the trail of it all lay
shooting at, Gorman and his compan- very plain on the hard ground. Watch-
ions had gone for help. While they ing hil^i narrowly, Smith, with hjs
angrily surrounded Karg and Seagrue, prisoners ahead and the cowboys
Smith slipped from his horse where riding in a circle behind, approached.
Bill Dancing lay, lifted the huge head “Du Sang?”
knife and walked to Flat Nose, slit the
rope around his neck, pushed him out
of the circle, and stood in front of him.
“You can’t play horse with my pris-
oners,” he said, curtly. “Get over
here, Karg. Come, now, who is going
to walk in first? You act like a school-
boy, Gorman.”
Hard words and a wrangle followed,
but Smith did not change expression,
and there was a back-down. “Have you
fellows let Du Sang get away while
you were playing fool here?” he asked.
“Du Sang’s over the hill there on his
horse, and full of fight yet,” exclaimed
one.
“Then we will look him up,” sug-
gested Smith. “Come, Seagrue.”
“Don’t go over there. He’ll get you
if you do,” cried Gorman.
“Let us see about that. Seagrue,
you and Karg walk ahead. Don’t duck
or run, either of you. Go on.”
Just over the brow of the hill near
which the fight had taken place, a
man lay below a ledge of granite. The
horse from which he had fallen was
grazing close by, but the man had
A’
mm
m
from the dust, and tried to turn the j
giant over. A groan greeted the at-
tempt.
“Bill, open your eyes! Why would
yon not do as 1 wanted you to?” he
murmured bittejly to himself. A sec-
ond grohn answered him. Smith
:alled for.water, and from a canteen
•ii ached the pallid forehead, talking
The man in the sagebrush turned
his head.
Smith walked to him and bent
down. “Are you suffering much, Du
Sang?”
The wounded man, sinking with
shock and internal hemorrhage, ut-
tered a string of oaths.
Smith listened quietly till he had
meanwhile; but his efforts to re-1 done; then he knelt beside him and
and Karg leading the horse, the caval-
cade moved slowly down to the creek,
where a tiny stream purled among
the rocks. The water revived the in-
jured man for a moment; he had even
strength enough, with some help, to
ride again; and, moving in the same
halting order, they took him to Reb-
stock’s cabin. Rebstock, at the door,
refused to let the sinking man be
brought into the house. He cursed
Du Sang as the cause of all the trou-
ble. But Du Sang cursed him with
usury, and, while Whispering Smith
listened, told Rebstock with bitter
oaths that if he had given the boy
Barney anything but a scrub horse
they never would have been trailed.
More than this concerning the affair
Du Sang would not say, and never
said. The procession turned from the.
door. Seagrue led the way to Reb-
stock’s stable, and they laid Du Sang
on some hay.
Afterward they got a cot under him.
With surprising vitality he talked a
long time to Whispering Smith, but
at last fell into a stupor. At nine
o’clock that night he sat up. Ed Banks
and Kennedy were standing beside the
cot. Du Sang became delirious, and
in his delirium called the name of
Whispering Smith; but Smith was at
Baggs’ cabin with Bill Dancing. In
a spasm of pain, Du Sang, opening his
eyes, suddenly threw himself back.
The cot broke, and the dying man
rolled under the feet of the frightened
horses. In the light of the lanterns
they lifted him back, but he was bleed- ]
ing slowly at the mouth, quite dead.
The surgeon, afterward, found two ! must be safe and unhurt!
fatal wounds upon him. The first shot, ! Three o' the Tower w men trailed into
passing through the stomach ex. j Williams Cache. In resisting arrest this
i* jt-ao . * x*.,, i morning;- l>u Sant; was wounded and is
plained Du Sang s failure to kill at a dying to-night. Two prisoners, Karg and
distance in which, uninjured, he could j Seagrue. g. S.
CHAPTER XXIX.
McCloud and Dicksie.
News of the fight in Williams Cache
reached Medicine Bend in the night.
Horsemen, filling in the gaps between
telephones leading to the north coun-
try, made the circuit complete, but the
accounts, confused and colored in the
repeating, came in a cloud of con-
flicting rumors. In the streets, little
groups of men discussed the frag-
mentary reports as they came from
the railroad offices. Toward morning,
Sleepy Cat, nearer the scene of the
fight, began sending in telegraphic re-
ports in which truth and rumor were
strangely mixed. McCloud waited at
the wires all night, hoping for trust-
worthy advices as to the result, but re-
ceived none. Even during the morn-
ing nothing came, and the silence
seemed more ominous than the bad
news of the early night. Routine busi-
ness was almost suspended and Mc-
Cloud and Rooney Lee kept the wires
warm with inquiries.
At the noon hour McCloud was sign-
ing letters when Dicksie Dunning
walked hurriedly up the hall and hesi-
tated in the passageway before' the
open door of his office. He gave an
exclamation as he pushed back his
chair. She was in her riding suit just
as she had slipped from her saddle.
, “Oh, Mr. McCloud, have you heard the
awful news? Whispering Smith was
killed yesterday in Williams Cache by
Du Sang.”
McCloud stiffened a little. “I hope
that can’t be true. We have had
nothing here but rumors; perhaps it is
these that you have heard.”
“No, no! Blake, one of our men,
was in the fight and got back at the
ranch at nine o’clock this morning.
I heard the story myself, and I rode
right in to—to see Marion, and my
courage failed me—I came here first.
Does she know, do you think? Blake
saw him fall from the saddle after he
was shot, and everybody ran away,
and Du Sang and two other men were
firing at him as he lay on the ground.
He could not possibly have escaped
with his life, Blake said; he must
have been riddled with bullets. Isn’t
it terrible?” She sobbed suddenly, and
McCloud, stunned at her words, led
her to his chair and bent over her.
“If his death means this to you,
think of what it means to me!”
f
A flood of Sympathy bore them to-
gether. The moment was hardly one
for interruption, but the dispatcher’s
door opened and Rooney Lee halted,
thunderstruck, on the threshold.
Dicksie’s hand disappeared In her
handkerchief. McCloud had been in
wrecks before, and gathered himself
together unmoved. “What is it,
Rooney?”
The very calmness of the two at
the table disconcerted the dispatcher.
He held the message in his hand and
shuffled his feet. “Give me your dis-
patch,” said McCloud, impatiently.
Quite unable to take his hollow
eyes off Dicksie, poor Rooney ad-
vanced, handed the telegram to Mc-
Cloud, and beat an awkward retreat.
McCloud devoured the words of the
message at a glance.
“Ah!” he cried, “this is from Gor-
“Those are Gordon’s initials; it is
tlw signature over which he tele-
graphs me. You see, this was sent
last night long after Blake left. He
is safe; I will take my life on it.”
Dicksie sank back while McCloud
re-read the message. “Oh, isn’t that a
relief?” she exclaimed. “But how can
it be? I can’t understand it at all;
but he is safe, isn’t he? I wras heart-
broken when I heard he was killed.
Marion ought to know of this,” she
said, rising. “I am going to tell her.”
“And may I come over after I tell
Rooney Lee to repeat this to head-
quarters?”
“Why, of course, if you want to.”
When McCloud reached the cottage
Dicksie met him. “Katie Dancing’s
mother is sick, and she has gone
home. Poor Marion Is all alone this
morning, and half dead with a sick
headache,” said Dicksie. “But I told
her, and she said she shouldn’t mind
the headache now at all.”
“But what are you going to do?”
“I am going to get dinner; do you
want to help?”
“I’m going to help.”
“Oh, you are? That would be very
funny.”
“Funny or not, I’m going to help.”
“You would only be in the way.”
“You don’t know whether I should
or not.”
“I know I should do much better ir
you would go back and run the rail-
road a few minutes.”
“The railroad be hanged. I am for
dinner.”
“But I will get dinner for you.”
“You need not. I can get it for my-
self.”
“You are perfectly absurd, and if
we stand here disputing, Marion won’t
have anything to eat.”
They went into the kitchen disput-
ing about what should be cooked. At
the end of an hour they had two fires
going—one in the stove and one in
Dicksie’s cheeks. By that time it had
been decided to have a luncheon in-
stead of a dinner. Dicksie attempted
some soup, and McCloud found a strip
of bacon, and after he had cooked it,
Dicksie, with her riding-skirt pinned
up and her sleeves delightfully rolled
back, began frying eggs. When Marion,
unable longer to withstand the excite-
ment, appeared, the engineer, flushed
with endeavor, was making toast.
The three sat down at table togeth-
er. They found they had forgotten
the coffee, but Marion was not allowed
to move from her chair. When the
coffee was made ready the bacon had
been eaten and more had to be fried.
McCloud proved able for any part of
the program, and when they rose it
was four o’clock and too late, Mc-
Cloud declared, to go back to the of-
fice that afternoon.
Marion and Dicksie, after a time, at-
tempted jointly to get rid of him, but
they found they could not, so the
three talked about Whispering Smith.
When the women tried to discourage
McCloud by talking hats he played the
wheezy piano, and when Dicksie spoke
about going home he declared he
would ride home with her. But Dick-
sie had no mind that he should, and
when he asked to know why, without
realizing what a flush lingered in his
face, she said only, no; if she had
reasons she would give none. McCloud
persisted, because under the flush
about his eyes was the resolve that he
would take one long ride that evening,
in any event. He had made up his
mind for that ride—a longer one than
he had ever taken before, or expected
ever to take again—and would not be
balked.
Dicksie, insisting upon going home,
-went so far as to have her horse
brought from the stable. To her sur-
prise, a horse for McCloud came over
with it. Quiet to the verge of solem-
nity, but with McCloud following,
Dicksie walked with admirable firm-
ness out of the shop to the curb. Mc-
Cloud gave her rein to her, and with
a smile stood waiting to help her
mount.
She was drawing on her second
glove. “You are not going with me.”
“You’ll let me ride the same road,
won’t you—even if I can’t keep up?’’
Dicksie looked at his mount. “It
would be difficult to keep up, with that
horse.”
“Would you ride away from me just
because you have a better horse?”
“No, not just because I have a bet-
ter horse.’’
He looked steadily at her without
speaking.
“Why must you ride home with me
when I don’t want you to?” she asked,
reproachfully. Fear had come upon
her and she did not know what she
was saying. She saw only the expres-
sion of his eyes and looked away, but
she knew that his eyes followed her.
The sun had set. The deserted street
lay in the white half-light of a moun-
m
a!
ill
"Oh! ' Mr. McCloud, Have You Heard
the Terrible News?”
shock like that, it really is your pin?”
“Oh, I don’t know whose pin it is!”
“Why, what is the matter?”
“Give me the pin!” She put her
hands unsteadily up under her hat.
“Here, for heaven’s sake, if you must
have something, take this comb!” She
slipped from her head the shell that
held her knotted hair. He caught her
hand and kissed it, and she could not
get it away.
“You are dear,” murmured Dicksie,
“if you are silly. The reason I
wouldn’t let you ride home with me is
because I was afraid you might get
Nshot. How do you suppose I should
feel if you were killed? Or, don’t you
think I have any feeling?”
“But, Dicksie, is it all right?”
“How do I know? What do you
mean? I will not let you ride home
with me, and you will not let me ride
home alone. Tie Jim again. I am
going to stay with Marion all night.” .
I,am
J
i:
r
CHAPTER XXX.
The Laugh of a Woman.
Within an hour, Marion, .working
over a hat in the trimming room, was
startled to hear the cottage door open
and to see Dicksie quie unconcernedly
walk in. To Marion’s exclamation of
surprise she returned only a laugh. “I
have changed my mind, dear,
going to stay all night.”
Marion kissed her approvingly.
“Really, you are getting so sensible I
shan’t know you, Dicksie. - In fact, I
believe this is the most sensible thing
you were ever guilty of.” '
“Glad you think so,” returned Dick-
sie, dryly, unpinning her hat; “cer-
tainly hope it is. Mr. McCloud per-
suaded me it wasn’t right for me to
ride home alone, and I knew better /
than he what danger there was for f
him in riding home with me—so hero
I am. He is coming over for supper,
too, in a few minutes.”
When McCloud arrived he brought
with him a porterhouse steak, Ond
Marion was agaiji driven from the
kitchen. At the end of an hour, Dick-
sie, engrossed over the broiler, was
putting the finishing touches to the
steak, and McCloud/ more engrossed,
was watching her, when a diffident
and surprised-looking person appeared
in the kitchen doorway and put his
hand undecidedly on the casing. While
he stood, Dicksie turned abruptly to
McCloud.
“Oh, by the way, I have forgotten
something! Will you do me a favor?”
“Certainly! Do you want money or
a pass?”
“No, ■ not money,” said Dicksie, lift-
ing the steak on her fork, “though
you might give me a pass.”
“But I should hate to have you go
away anywhere—”
“I don’t want to go anywhere, but I
never had a pass, and I think it would
be kind of nice to have one just to
keep. Don’t you?”
“Why, yes; you might put it in the
bank and have it drawing interest.”
“This steak is—Do they give inter*
est on passes?”
“Well, a good deal of Interest is felt
in them—on thjs division at least.
What Is the favor?”
“Yes, what is it? How can I think?
Oh, I know! If they don’t put Jim in
a box stall to-night he will kill some it
the horses over there. Will you telet
phone the stables?”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
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don himself, sent from Sleepy Cat.
List en:
tain evening, and the day’s radiance
was dying in the sky. In lower tones
he spoke again, and she turned deadly
white.
“I’ve wanted so long to' say this,
Dicksie, that I might as well be dead
as to try to keep it back any longer.
That’s why I want to ride home with
you if you are going to let me.” He
turned to stroke her horse’s head.
Dicksie stood seemingly helpless. Mc-
Cloud slipped his finger into his waist-
coat pocket and held something out in
his hand. "This shell pin fell from
your hair that night you were at camp
by the bridge—do you remember? I
couldn’t bear to give it back.”
Dicksie’s eyes opened wide. “Let
me see it. I don’t think that is mine.”
“Great heaven! Have I been carry-
ing Marion Sinclair’s pin for a
month?” exclaimed McCloud. “Well, I
won’t lose any time in returning it to
her, at any rate.”
“Where are you going?” Dicksie’s
voice was faint.
“I'm going to give Marion her pin.”
“Do nothing of the sort! Come
here! Give it to me.”
“Dicksie, dare you tell me. after a
Kettledrum a Perfect Instrument.
The kettledrum, Mr. Gabriel death*
er contended, was perfectly compe-
tent to produce atmosphere as well
as rhythm. Even to tune the instru-
ment three things were required—-a
perfect musical ear, a fine sense of
touch and five years’ experience. Aft-
er playing over a kettledrum melody
written 80 years ago from Meyerbeer’s
"Robert le Diable,” Mr. Cleather con-
tinued: “I venture to say that outside
of the musical profession not one per-
son in a hundred of those who listen
to an orchestra to-day knows that tim-
pani have notes and can give out a
melody.” No instrument, he added*,
had a greater range of power than the
kettledrum, for none could be played,
more softly and none had greater pe»
etrating power.
•Lf,
" I
mm
mg.
-A
Affinity Defined.
A man who has a penchant for
phrase-making and whose wife has«a
vivid imagination got into difficulties
the other day. The lady was reading
an account of the latest divorce and
chanced to run across the “affinity’*
bromide. “Such a senseless word!”
she exclaimed; then, turning to her
husband, “What is an affinity, any-
how?” “Affinity? Oh, accommoda-
tion train,” he defined with conscious
aptness. And ever since he’s been
using all his cleverness in the effort
to explain how he knew.
rti
m
V>1
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Morton, George M. The Cumby Rustler. (Cumby, Tex.), Vol. 18, No. 37, Ed. 1 Friday, December 10, 1909, newspaper, December 10, 1909; Cumby, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth770088/m1/3/: accessed July 17, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Hopkins County Genealogical Society.