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Almost any of them would have shot him in the back on a dark night, but none had the cold nerve to meet him in the open. For even in a land which bred men there were few to match Emerson Crawford. Shorty looked at Steelman. "I'm waitin', Brad," he said. The sheepman nodded sullenly. "You done heard your orders, Shorty."
Brad had at once seen the possibilities of the situation and decided, with an unerring certainty, that as a jack-o'-lantern is naught by day, the pumpkin face must be cunningly veiled.
Pierre Roubideau came round the corner of the house and joined Brad. The guard made room for him on the bench. If Roubideau sat down, the man in the shadow knew he was lost. They would sit there and chat till Goodheart came back and discovered his absence. The rancher hesitated while he felt for his pipe. "Reckon I left it in the kitchen," he said. Brad followed him round the corner of the house.
Keep that in your mind and you can make a popular newspaper. Only," continued Mr. Brad, reflectively, "you've got to hit a lot of different tastes." "You'd laugh," this artist in emotions went on, after a little pause, "at some of my assignments. There was a run awhile ago on elopements, and my assignment was to have one every Monday morning.
'True' international-crisis suspense stories, for the next thrilling chapter read tomorrow's paper or tune in to this station! That's what's printed and broadcast, Brad. It's what people want and insist on. Don't you realize how the children will be served up in the news? 'Creatures From Space in Antarctica! Earth Helpless!" She grimaced.
"Of course!" scoffed Dick. "But she'd stand for it, if she ever did find it out. She needs the money just as much as I do, only she likes to appear sanctimo " "I hate a liar, Brad," said Dick coolly. Braddock arose unsteadily. "You mean ME?" "I do," said the thief to the liar. "You know you lie when you say she'd back you up in a game like that." "I've a notion to smash you one."
It took the popular fancy; and everybody wondered, as after all illuminings of genius, why nobody had thought of it before. Brad Freeman was unanimously elected to act the part, as the only living man likely to manage a supplementary head without rehearsal; and Pillsbury's white colt was hastily groomed for the onslaught.
Britt, like a person touched smartly by a brad, twitched himself in his chair and asked in chilly tone what he could do for Stickney. The caller promptly became considerable of an icicle himself. He laid down a little sheaf of papers beside the shielding forearm. "If you'll O. K. them notes for discount, I'll be much obliged, and won't take up valuable time."
Was it to be a gun-play? Or did the big bully mean to manhandle him? Probably the latter. West was vain of his reputation as a two-fisted fighter. "I'm gonna beat you up, then turn you over to the Crees," the infuriated man announced. "You can't do that, West. He's a white man same as you," protested Stearns. "This yore put-in, Brad?"
You'd ought to be laying by quite a bit of the mazuma, what with rewards and spy money together," taunted Charlton. To the center of the circle Meldrum elbowed his drunken way. "Lemme get at the pink-ear. Lemme bust him one," he demanded. Ned Rutherford held him back. "Don't break yore breeching, Dan. Brad has done spoke for him," the young man drawled.
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