51�Թ�

“Winter stores—an’ why’ll the Padre need ’em, the good kind Padre, when the sheriff’s comin’ along to round him up fer—murder?”

"And why'll they be safer there than in the house?"

Now, why'll he be thankin' me," she muttered—"me that 'u'd die an' stay in hell forever for him?

"But why'll we sell the Victor?"

"And why'll it fail, my young jackanapes?" the gambler blazed at him.