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Vachell, Horace Annesley, 1861-1955

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

Thugs who practised their
trade as a fine art. Despite all proverbs the foreseen is what
generally happens; and our amazing advent in their midst created a
sort of panic whereby we took advantage. The Celestials carried
knives, but they dared not use them, because the light was so dim and
the room so crowded. The first thing that I saw when I scrambled to my
feet was the fat dull face of the guard shining like a harvest moon,
and presenting a mark for my fist as round and big as a punching-bag.
I hit him once--and that was enough. Then I began to hear the measured
thud of my brother's blows, the blows of a workman who knows how to
strike and where to strike.
At first they took their medicine without a whimper. Then they began
to squeal and chatter as the fear of the "white devils" got hold of
them. Very soon I saw "red," as our Tommies say, and remembered
nothing till I came to myself in the passage at the foot of the rotten
stairs. We scurried up these and through the warren above like rabbits
when the pole-cat pursueth, and finally found ourselves in the alley,
where we called a halt.
"By Jove!" said Ajax, "that was a ruction.


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