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"Well," she said, looking at the black horse; "I intend to observe Manti's citizens more closely before attempting to express an opinion." Half an hour later, in response to Corrigan's invitation, Rosalind was walking down Manti's one street, Corrigan beside her. Corrigan had donned khaki clothing, a broad, felt hat, boots, neckerchief.
But he was too eager, and his blows missed the reeling target that, with arms hanging wearily at his sides, still instinctively kept to his feet, the taunting smile, now becoming bitterly contemptuous, still on his face. It meant that though exhausted, his arm broken, he felt only scorn for Corrigan's prowess as a fighter.
An instant later, Carson came in the front door and met Corrigan at the wire netting. "Hullo," said the Irishman, without preliminaries; "the agent was tellin' me I'd find a mon named Corrigan here. You're in charge, eh?" he added at Corrigan's affirmative. "Well, bedad, somebody's got to be in charge from now on.
She went out, mounted her horse, and rode slowly out the Bar B trail. From a window Corrigan watched her, and as she vanished into the distance he turned back to his desk, meditating darkly. "Trevison put Levins up to that. He's showing yellow." Rosalind's reflections as she rode toward the Bar B convinced her that there had been much truth in Corrigan's arraignment of Trevison.
A queer stupor came upon him, during which he neither felt nor saw. Dimly, he sensed that Corrigan was striking at him; with a sort of vague half-consciousness he felt that the blows were landing. But they did not hurt, and he laughed at Corrigan's futile efforts. The only feeling he had was a blind rage against Braman, for he was certain that it had been the banker who had tripped him.
He's got a fake bill of sale to show that he bought the land years ago which he didn't an' he's got a little beast of a judge here to back him up in his play. They've done away with the original record of the land, an' rigged up another, which makes Corrigan's title clear.
Re-entering the banking room he said: "I'm in no condition to face Miss Benham. Go down to the car and tell her that I shall be very busy here all day, and that I won't be able to see her until late tonight." Miss Benham's name was on the tip of the banker's tongue, but, glancing at Corrigan's face, he decided that it was no time for that particular brand of levity.
"Sure a man may take the purse of an ugly old sick monkey like him, and still go with an open face to confession," rejoined Paddy, "and I would not be backward if Father Corrigan's church was a mile beyond." "And are you meaning that Father Corrigan would approve you in this robbery?" I cried. "Devil a bit he would, your honour," answered Paddy indignantly.
But he knew guilt when he saw it, and proof of it had been in her avoidance of him, in her ride to save Corrigan's mining machinery, in her subsequent telling of his presence at the butte on the night of the dynamiting, in her bitter declaration that he ought to be punished for it. The case against her was strong.
Trevison scowled, for he recognized them as Corrigan's deputies. But he was not surprised, for he had half expected them to be hanging around the building. Two figures stepped down from the door as he watched, and he knew them for Corrigan and Gieger. Corrigan's voice reached him. "The lock on this door is broken. I had to kick it in this morning. One of you stay inside, here.
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