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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"The Crusade of the Excelsior"

No, sir sooner or later, of course, the
San Francisco crowd are bound to find us here. And if it wasn't for my
crops and our mine, I wouldn't be in a hurry for them; but our FIRST
hold is the Church."
He stopped. Crosby was asleep. Brace arose lazily, lounged into his
office, and closed his desk.
"Going to shut for the day?" said Banks, yawning.
"I reckon," said Brace dubiously; "I don't know but I'd take a little
pasear into the town if I had my horse ready."
"Take mine, and I'll trapse over on foot to the Ranche with
Crosby--after a spell. You'll find him under that big madrono, if he has
not already wound himself up with his lariat by walking round it. Those
Mexican horses can't go straight even when they graze--they must feed in
a circle. He's a little fresh, so look out for him!"
"All the better. I'd like to get into town just after the siesta."
"Siesta!" echoed Banks, lying comfortably down in the shade just vacated
by Brace; "that's another of their shiftless practices. Two hours out of
every day--that's a day out of the week--spent in a hammock; and during
business hours too! It's disgraceful, sir, simply disgraceful."
He turned over and closed his eyes, as if to reflect on its enormity.


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