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Brand, Max, 1892-1944

"Trailin'!"

They went down like tenpins till our
guns were empty. Then we up and rushed what was left of 'em--Piotto and
his daughter. Bard makes a pass to knock the gun out of the hand of Joan
and wallops her on the head instead. Down she goes. I finished Piotto
with my bare hands."
"Broke his back, eh?"
"Me? Whoever heard of breakin' a man's back? Ha, ha, ha! You been
hearin' fairy tales, son. Nope, I choked the old rat."
"Were you badly hurt?"
Lawlor searched his memory hastily; there was no information on this
important point.
"Couple of grazes," he said, dismissing the subject with a tolerant wave
of the hand. "Nothin' worth talkin' of."
"I see," nodded Bard.
It occurred to Lawlor that his guest was taking the narrative in a
remarkably philosophic spirit. He reviewed his telling of the story
hastily and could find nothing that jarred.
He concluded: "That was the way of livin' in them days. They ain't no
more--they ain't no more!"
"And now," said Anthony, "the only excitement you get is out of
books--and running the labourers?"
He had picked up the book which Lawlor had just laid down.


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