* * * * *
"Bet, ain't that Curly Gillmore that we knew three years ago at Coloma,
when Allie died?"
"Must be a-gittin' blind! Where?"
"The feller all dressed up an' walkin' with the lady. Sure it is! Hi,
Curly, hel-lo! It's Babe. Well, ain't I glad - "
The woman with Curly fixed Babe with a stony glare. "If you wish to
converse with this ... woman, kindly do so when your wife is not
accompanying you," she said to him in an angry undertone, and went
majestically on.
"I'll come back, Babe. We've been married just a month and she doesn't
understand. I'll be back later," and he hurried off.
"Bet, did you see who that was with Curly? His wife, he said."
"Aw-w, Babe, don't you fret! I guess we fill our little place out here
in Californy near as much as some o' the fine ladies do."
"I didn't care. No, I was thinkin' that the ways o' the Lord are
curi-us. That lady used to be married to George Spellman."
"An' Curly shot him, down at Sonora, last year!"
"Ye-aw."
"Well, I'll be - ."
The Race of the Shoestring Gamblers
VIII
"Judge not too idly that our toils are mean,
Though no new levies marshall on our green;
Nor deem too rashly that our gains are small,
Weighed with the prizes for which heroes fall.
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