United States or Dominica ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Me, I tell you. I'm the only man that knows, I'm the only man that's got the right " "Brodie spoke of right. No one has a right more than any other man. It's treasure-trove, Honeycutt; it's the man's who can find it and bring it in." "That'll be me. You'll see. Think I'm old, do you?" He spoke jeeringly and clenched a pair of palsied fists.
"You know better than that," King told him sternly. "If I wanted to rob you I'd do it without all this monkey business." In his suspicious old heart Honeycutt knew that. He battled with himself, his toothless old mouth tight clamped. "I'll go you!" he said abruptly. "Stand back. An' give me the money first." King gave him the money and drew back some three or four paces.
Little Jason's father, when he quarrelled with his kin, could afford to buy only cheap land on the Honeycutt side, and thus the homes of the two were close to the high heart of the mountain, and separated only by the bristling crest of the spur.
If there were, in truth, such gold here somewhere as he and her father with him had dreamed of gold for which seven men had died sixty years ago, for which old Loony Honeycutt had hungered all these years, for which Brodie and his following and even a city man like Gratton were like so many ravening wolves on the trail gold in quantity to make even toughened old gold-seekers delirious with the dreams of it why, then, that gold was half Mark King's and half Ben Gaynor's!
But always the one difficulty: that point might be a mile away, or ten, twenty, thirty miles away. There was nothing to do but seek and he knew that always Swen Brodie, too, was seeking, Brodie and the men of his own kind whom likeness drew to likeness. So King spent day after day in the cañons and on the ridges, and yet, through Ben Gaynor, thought to keep an eye on old Loony Honeycutt.
"I'll put nothin' down," he announced triumphantly. "You set down that box." Hastily Brodie put it on the table. He drew further away, backing toward the front door. "Git!" cried old Honeycutt. They could hear the air rushing back into Brodie's lungs as he came to the door and his fear left him. "I'll be back, Honeycutt, don't you fear," he growled savagely.
"I shot close enough to scare him, I reckon, Good-night, colonel." "Thank you, my boy good-night." It was court day at the county-seat. A Honeycutt had shot down a Hawn in the open street, had escaped, and a Hawn posse was after him. The incident was really a far effect of the recent news that Jason Hawn was soon coming back home and coming back to live.
Gold spoke directly and eloquently to what stood for a soul in Loony Honeycutt; banknotes had a voice which he understood but which could never move him, thrill him, lift him to ecstatic heights, as pure musical, beautiful gold could. "It's a sight of money, Mark," he whispered "It's a sight of money." King held his silence. His whole argument was on the table.
If Swen Brodie were sure enough of what he was about to rid himself of Andy Parker, what would he not do with old Honeycutt? "I ought to go back," was what King said over and over to himself as he rode steadily on after Gloria.
Then she had caught a word between her father and his friend; had heard Honeycutt mentioned and a ride to Coloma, and on the break of the instant had determined with a young will which invariably went unthwarted, that high adventure was beckoning her.
Word Of The Day