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"I only said you couldn't always tell by whether his heart beat or not." But all at once there was a commotion. The wagon containing Mrs. Hooven, Minna, and little Hilda drove up. "Eh, den, my men," cried Mrs. Hooven, wildly interrogating the faces of the crowd. "Whadt has happun? Sey, den, dose vellers, hev dey hurdt my men, eh, whadt?"
It had enticed Lyman into its toils to pluck from him his manhood and his honesty, corrupting him and poisoning him beyond redemption; it had hounded Dyke from his legitimate employment and had made of him a highwayman and criminal. It had cast forth Mrs. Hooven to starve to death upon the City streets. It had driven Minna to prostitution.
His objective point was the spring at the headwaters of Broderson Creek, in the hills on the eastern side of the Quien Sabe ranch. The trail afforded him a short cut thitherward. As he passed the house, Mrs. Hooven came to the door, her little daughter Hilda, dressed in a boy's overalls and clumsy boots, at her skirts.
The few tenants that were still on Los Muertos are leaving. That is one thing that brings me to the city. The family of one of the men who was killed Hooven was his name have come to the city to find work. I think they are liable to be in great distress, unless they have been wonderfully lucky, and I am trying to find them in order to look after them." "You need looking after yourself, Pres."
Dyke," he said, reassuringly. "We know where he is, I believe. You and the little tad stay here, and Hooven and I will go after him." About two hours later, Harran brought Dyke back to Los Muertos in Hooven's wagon. He had found him at Caraher's saloon, very drunk. There was nothing maudlin about Dyke's drunkenness. In him the alcohol merely roused the spirit of evil, vengeful, reckless.
"Remember, we are not to fire first." "Perhaps that's Hooven; I can't see. Is it? There only seems to be one horse." "Too much dust for one horse." Annixter, who had taken his field glasses from Harran, adjusted them to his eyes. "That's not them," he announced presently, "nor Hooven either. That's a cart." Then after another moment, he added, "The butcher's cart from Guadalajara."
"Hello, Bismarck," said Presley, as Hooven brought his team to a standstill by the tank, preparatory to refilling. "Yoost der men I look for, Mist'r Praicely," cried the other, twisting the reins around the brake. "Yoost one minute, you wait, hey? I wanta talk mit you." Presley was impatient to be on his way again. A little more time wasted, and the day would be lost.
I cetch um." "The marshals won't allow you to shoot, Bismarck," observed Presley, looking at Minna. Hooven doubled up with merriment. "Ho! dot's hell of some fine joak. Me, I'M ONE OAF DOSE MAIRSCHELL MINE-SELLUF," he roared with delight, beating his knee. To his notion, the joke was irresistible. All day long, he could be heard repeating it.
Hooven and Minna, too for the matter of that country-bred, ignorant of city ways, might easily come to grief in the hard, huge struggle of city life. This suspicion had swiftly hardened to a conviction, acting at last upon which Presley had followed them to San Francisco, bent upon finding and assisting them.
The others surrounded him. "I saw them," he cried. "They are coming this way. S. Behrman and Ruggles are in a two-horse buggy. All the others are on horseback. There are eleven of them. Christian and Delaney are with them. Those two have rifles. I left Hooven watching them." "Better call in Gethings and Cutter right away," said Annixter. "We'll need all our men."
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