'It
hain't new, this takin' and payin' of blows, and don't you never
think but that this will be squared.' 'An' niver in me life did I
take the lie from mortal man,' was the retort courteous. 'An'
it's an avil day I'll not be to hand, waitin' an' willin' to help
ye lift yer debts, barrin' no manner of way.'
'Still got that 38-55?' Lon nodded.
'But you'd better git a more likely caliber. Mine'll rip holes
through you the size of walnuts.'
'Niver fear; it's me own slugs smell their way with soft noses,
an' they'll spread like flapjacks against the coming out beyand.
An' when'll I have the pleasure of waitin' on ye? The waterhole's
a strikin' locality.' ''Tain't bad. Jest be there in an hour, and
you won't set long on my coming.' Both men mittened and left the
Post, their ears closed to the remonstrances of their comrades.
It was such a little thing; yet with such men, little things,
nourished by quick tempers and stubborn natures, soon blossomed
into big things.
Besides, the art of burning to bedrock still lay in the womb of
the future, and the men of Forty-Mile, shut in by the long Arctic
winter, grew high-stomached with overeating and enforced
idleness, and became as irritable as do the bees in the fall of
the year when the hives are overstocked with honey.
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