Showing posts with label Kit Carson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kit Carson. Show all posts

Friday, 15 October 2010

Woodcraft and mountain lore



      You may ask if a month in the wilds with that great scout taught me much of woodcraft and mountain lore; I can reply with confidence that bt the time we reached Fort Laramie, I could deduce by the sight of a broken twig that someone had stepped on it, and when I saw a great pile of dung on the prarie I knew at once that a buffalo had let drive.


Flashman and the Redskins, p.198, Pan Books edition, 1983.

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Thursday, 14 October 2010

A seasoned ruffian



…his baby son, Charlie, was a seasoned ruffian of twelve months who took to me at once, as children usually do, recognising in me a nature as unscrupulous as their own.


Flashman and the Redskins, p.195, Pan Books edition, 1983.




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Wednesday, 13 October 2010

We rogues know



Between ourselves, I didn’t care for him all that much; for one thing, he had greatness, in his way, and I don’t cotton to that; for another, although he was always amiable and considerate, I guess he was leery of me. He knew a rogue when he saw one—and we rogues know when we’ve been seen.


Flashman and the Redskins, p.195, Pan Books edition, 1983.




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Tuesday, 12 October 2010

Polished lightning




      I never saw the buckskin man move, but suddenly he was in their path and the murderous axe-heads clanged as they struck and parried and struck again faster than the eye could follow. I looked to see him cut down in seconds by those agile fighting demons, but if they were fast as cats the little chap was like quicksilver, cutting, ducking, leaping aside, darting in again as though he were on springs—I’ve seen men of their hands, but never one to cap him for speed, and he wasn’t just holding his ground, but driving them back, his hatchet everywhere at once like polished lightning, and the two of them desperately trying to fend him off.




Flashman and the Redskins, p.190, Pan Books edition, 1983.



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Wednesday, 26 August 2009

Not even a sniff o’ danger




It was unnerving, and suddenly I could hear Kit Carson’s strained quiet voice in the dread silence of the wagon road west of Leavenworth: 'Nary a sight nor sound anywhere – not even a sniff o’danger. That’s what frets me.'



Flashman at the Charge, p.184, Pan edition, 5th printing, 1979.




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