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Vachell, Horace Annesley, 1861-1955

"Bunch Grass A Chronicle of Life on a Cattle Ranch"

And
then, in a jiffy, before we had time to glance round us, the candle
was extinguished; the door was closed; we heard the click of a patent
lock; and we knew that we were alone and in darkness.
The first thing that Ajax said, and his voice was not pleasant to
hear, was: "This serves us right. Of all the confounded fools who
meddle with what does not concern them, we are the greatest."
Then I heard him fumbling for his matchbox, and then, when he
discovered that it was empty, he made some more remarks not flattering
to himself or me. I was more frightened than angry; with him rage and
disgust were paramount.
We stood there in that squalid darkness for about a hundred years (it
was really ten minutes), and then the voice of our guide seemed to
float to us, as if from an immeasurable distance.
"Boys," he said. "How air ye makin' it?"
Ajax answered him quite coolly--
"What do you want? Our money of course. What else?"
The fellow did not reply at once. These opium fiends have no bowels of
compassion. He was doubtless chuckling to himself at his own guile.
When he did speak, the malice behind his words lent them point.


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