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Corliss and Shoop stamped in, breathing hard. "What's up?" questioned Corliss. "They they got the money," muttered Sundown, pointing toward the office. "Who? See what's up, Bud." Shoop swung out and across the enclosure. Corliss stooped over Sundown. "What's wrong, Sun? Why, Great God, you're hurt!" The rancher brought water and bathed Sundown's head. "Who did it?" he questioned. "I dunno, boss.
The flooding, triumphant chords rose, crashed stopped with a shattering abruptness. Laura's hands fell to her sides, then were raised to her glowing face and concealed it for a moment. She shivered; a quick, deep sigh heaved her breast; and she came back to herself like a prisoner leaving a window at the warden's voice. She turned. Cora and Corliss had left the room.
Nor did he intend to risk getting caught with a share of the money in his possession, provided his plan was carried to a conclusion. He anticipated that John Corliss would be away from the ranch frequently, owing to the threatened encroachment of Loring's sheep on the west side of the Concho River. Tony, the Mexican, would be left in charge of the ranch.
"And if you modify, you are lost!" she exulted. "For you can only modify in the direction of my position, which is neither so Jesuitical nor so harsh as you have defined it. But don't let us get lost in dialectics. I want to see what I can see, so tell me about this woman." "Not a very tasteful topic," Corliss objected. "But I seek knowledge." "Nor can it be wholesome knowledge."
Corliss, who had seen him approach through the window, sat at his desk, waiting for the cow-boy to dismount and come in. But Fadeaway sat his horse, determined to make the rancher come outside. Corliss understood, and pushing back his chair, strode to the doorway. "Want to see me?" he asked.
Corliss drew rein and they faced each other. There was something about the rancher's grim, silent attitude that warned Fadeaway. Yet he grinned and waved a greeting. "How!" he said, as though he were meeting an old friend. Corliss nodded briefly. He sat gazing at Fadeaway with an unreadable expression. "Got the lock-jaw?" queried Fadeaway, his pretended heartiness vanishing.
They're the best of the boiling, I know, a new country always gathers the best, but there's something wrong, Corliss, something wrong. The heats of life have passed with me, and my vision is truer, surer. It seems a new Christ must arise and preach a new salvation economic or sociologic in these latter days, it matters not, so long as it is preached. The world has need of it."
The cowboy, by sheer force of his personality, dominated the now repentant Corliss, whose stubbornness had given way to tearful retraction and reiterated apology. Of course they were friends! They drank and Fadeaway noticed the other's increasing pallor. "Jest about one more and he'll take a sleep," soliloquized the cowboy. "In the mornin' 's when I ketch him, raw, sore, and ready for anything."
I'm mighty glad you didn't get put out in this deal. That's where I stand. I want to find out who took the money. I don't say that I'll lift a rein to follow them. Depends on who did it." Sundown winced, and gazed up helplessly. He felt oppressed by the broad-chested figure near him. He felt that he could not get away from what? Not Corliss, for Corliss was undoubtedly friendly.
If we pass from our theology to our social science we come to the most characteristic result of the crowd principle that the times afford. We are brought face to face with Socialism, the millennium machine, the Corliss engine of progress.
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