They crawled through the north fence and came on toward him, and now he saw that both were young, not more than nineteen or twenty.

They were dirty, their clothes were torn, and the girl was so exhausted that she fell when she was still twenty feet from the front door.

They were running from something.

They were a pair of lost, whipped kids, Morgan thought as he went to bed.

They passed ranches that were framed dark gray against the black hills.

They were tethered, army style, on stable lines.

They bawled questions that were not answered in the uproar.

They were about a mile off ; ;

They weren't sleeping, of course, but they thought they were doing him a favor by pretending.

They expected greater things from him, regardless of how trying the circumstances, and they were disappointed.

They were going to town, and they were both excited.

They were free.

They were in a fight, outweighed in both numbers and money.

They were sitting on their heels, rider-fashion, over by the still empty calf wagon.

They were considering it gravely, neither seeming to like what he planned.

They were silent for a little while, each looking glum.

They were all good men.

They were headed straight for each other on a collision course.

`` They were supposed to meet Thor at nine PM for a conference concerning the ad campaign for their soap, a new angle based on this SX-21 stuff ''.

They were married over the week-end, though he was easily sixty and she could not have been even thirty.

They were west of the Sabine, but only God knew where.

They were engulfed by the weird silence, broken only by the low, angry murmur of the river.

They were already swollen to bursting.

They had been seen as soon as they left the ranch, picked out of the darkness by the weary though watchful eyes of two men posted a few hundred yards away in the windless shelter of the trees.

They reached the guard house without alerting the men on the walls above, and Powers slipped through the door.

They walked the horses, heading along the river, Barton and Emmett Foster in the lead, seven men riding quietly through the night.

They trailed him across the wide hallway to the parlor, four roughly garbed and tough-looking men who probably had never before ventured into such a house.

They brought to it all the odors that clung to men like themselves, that of their own sweat, of campfire smoke, of horses and cattle.

They bought rustled cattle from the outlaw, kept him supplied with guns and ammunition, harbored his men in their houses.

They recognized that slavery was a moral issue and not merely an economic interest, and that to recognize it explicitly in their Constitution would be in explosive contradiction to the concept of sovereignty they had set forth in the Declaration of 1776 that `` all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among them are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

They kicked their horses through the deep water with their bare heels, drove the Rebels out of their rifle pits and captured four men.

They even accept the `` double standard '' of sex morality in a double sense, i.e., both sexes agree that standards for men differ from standards for women, and women apply to both sexes a standard different from that held by men.

They tried to outface him, but Joseph Simmons was as wide as two average men, and it would have taken braver men than these were to outface him.

They were stocky men, well fed and clean-shaven, with neat uniforms and sturdy boots.

They all sat around and drank ice water, and the men smoked, and everybody had a good time.

They saw completely masculine and obviously virile men performing with incredible grace.

They were `` sincere '' -- men of the too-hearty handclasp and the urgent smile.

They charged into the enemy like wild men.

They were to promise fine presents to the loyal red men, as well as an abundant supply of trading goods at better prices than the opposition was offering.

They were staring at him in the same blank and menacing way that the men outside the gate had stared.

They have the same men, no age problem, no injuries and they also have Vinegar Bend Mizell for the full season, along with Bobby Shantz ''.

They found a large welcoming group -- El Paso policemen, Border Patrol, sheriff's deputies, and FBI men, who surged around the plane with rifles and submachine guns.

They would become tagged as men not interested in being purely real estate `` professionals '' but agitators for some kind of `` cause '' or `` reform '', and this was no longer to be a `` pro ''.

They borrowed a typewriter, raised about $2,000 in contributions, hired a secretary, persuaded a couple of young men to join them for almost no pay and began mailing out a collection of unstapled leaflets that they called Guideposts.

They lived in 100 cantons ( 4. 1 ) from which 1000 young men per year were chosen for military service, a citizen-army by our standards and by comparison with the Roman professional army.