By Walter Van Tilburg Clark
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Extra resources for The Track of the Cat
Sample text
Arthur asked softly. " "You goddam right there will," Curt said, "for the guy that knows it when he sees it, and has the cartwheels to buck it. " "It’ll do for the end of one, anyway," Arthur said, and then, smiling, and as if to stop the quarrel, "We1l, a life’s a life, and you can’t buy more than one, no matter how many Comstocks you own. " "One kind or another, one man at a time, or in little gangs, sure, plenty, I guess," Arthur said slowly, as if thinking it out for himself, and seeing it as it would be.
Don’t even know as I can trust Art, for that matter. " "Gee," Curt said, making the big eyes of a child in awe. "No wonder you’re in no hurry. "I’ll tell you what, Art," he said confidentially, "I’ll make me a special bullet. I’ll melt up some of your dreams—they’re plenty heavy enough—and make a magic bullet, and you can put the medicine on it, huh? " He opened the door again, and through the opening they could see the mother standing at the stove in her old gray flannel bathrobe, with her gray hair still hanging loose down her back.
It’s some time since your pa’s had anything to say about it," the mother said dryly. " She finished her coffee and set the cup down. "He never did care, far as that goes," she said. "The money don’t come sudden enough in ranchin’ to suit him. Not around here, anyway. Your pa’s a man to think in big figures. But if he did have any say," she concluded, "he wouldn’t be for splittin’ up the holdin’s. Nor I wouldn’t neither. " "There’s no need to split, Mother," Arthur said. " The mother made the thin, concluding smile again.