"Besides," Quinn interrupted, "If I tried to set Howie that far back we'd be lucky to get within twenty miles of New Bedford and a couple of days of the killing.
"It's the Lucky Pup mine!" he announced.
He was a lucky fox that left his tail in the trap.
Lucky you jumped aside, or it would have wiped you out!
You will in the meanwhile have earned your fare, and arrive there some time tomorrow, or possibly this evening, if you are lucky enough to get a job in season.
Another company, a lucky one for not all the companies had vodka, crowded round a pockmarked, broad-shouldered sergeant major who, tilting a keg, filled one after another the canteen lids held out to him.
After a nod of her head, Paulette's hand shot up and the auctioneer all but cheered as he looked about for another sucker, his voice sounding like an old Lucky Strike commercial.
I know the work is hard and the weather is forbidding at times, but do you know how lucky you are?
How did you know about the Lucky Pup?
It sounds like the Lucky Pup Mine is at the bottom of the whole business.
There's only a half dozen Lucky Strikes.
I own The Lucky Pup mine.
I don't know whose bones were in the Lucky Pup Mine, but Josh Mulligan died in 1987 of cirrhosis of the liver from drinking too much.
"It's lucky we got here, though," said the boy; and Jim thought of the dark cave, and agreed with him.
You were very brave, and it is lucky that the wolf was not there.
"I'm not lucky enough to die," he said with a faint smile.
The Lucky Pup is one of a dozen or so digs scattered around his property up in Governor's Basin.
One of the ladies who worked at the courthouse made an offhand comment about the popular Lucky Pup Mine.
Mr. Dean here, part time detective and sheriff candidate, tracked down a hot lead on some bones—maybe a long dead villain—up at The Lucky Pup mine.
I don't give a damn about a bunch of bones, but where do you get off saying The Lucky Pup Mine is yours?
If you want the parcel with the Lucky Pup on it, there's a damn good reason—something I don't know about.
"I think we should see The Lucky Pup Mine for ourselves," Cynthia said.
"I suppose this means it's inappropriate to fill Fred in on what happened at the Lucky Pup," Cynthia mused as they climbed the steps to Bird Song.
He was dying to know what happened up at the Lucky Pup.
In the eyes of the Deans, it was looking more and more as if person or persons unknown did in fact take the original bones and switch them for the theatrical imitations Fitzgerald dragged out of The Lucky Pup mine.
A little girl—a sort-of ward of ours—had an interest in the Lucky Pup Mine.
It was a mine portal, smaller than the main entrance to the Lucky Pup.
It's just a back entrance to the Lucky Pup.
The Lucky Pup has apparently been sealed up for the last forty years until someone—kids, we think—broke into the mine this spring.
He'd reached to the main Jeep road from the faint trail to the Lucky Pup when a sound broke the stillness of dusk.
All I could think of was Randy and how lucky we are that he's got his act together in spite of this business with Jen—how much better off he is than Billy— and Jen than Melissa.
"It's lucky for him that he escaped me; but I'll find him!" she said in her rough voice.
"Lucky Strike Greens," he said.
"Want to see what a Lucky Strike Green Flat Fifty tin looks like?" he asked.
But there was the little problem of the pack of cigarettes Martha clearly described as being with the bones in the Lucky Pup Mine.
Josh Mulligan was Paul's mine manager at the Lucky Pup.
If in fact those reports were all lies, he may have never even entered the Lucky Pup.
After much discussion, they agreed on the wording: I understand you have an interest in the Lucky Pup mine in Ouray County, Colorado and may be anxious about what was found therein.
Dawkins, Sr. had never hired another mine manager after Josh and never so much as mentioned the Lucky Pup after that time—to his sons or his wife.
While that conjecture made a nice pat story, it didn't answer who was now so concerned with forty-year-old happenings to switch the skeleton, steal a finger bone, offer a substantial price for a virtually worthless mine, and perhaps take a shot at visitors to the Lucky Pup.
Either one of them might have stolen the bony digit from Cynthia's jewelry case and fired a gun at the Lucky Pup Mine.
Certainly he has no ties to Josh Mulligan of forty years ago, or the Dawkins, or the Lucky Pup mine.