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"I tell you what we'll do," said Keller, then: "We'll unload on them both stories, or we won't tell them either. Which shall it be?" Dixon understood that an ultimatum was being served on him. For, though his former foe was smiling, the smile was a frosty one. "Just as you say. I reckon it's your call," he acquiesced sourly. "No I'm going to leave it to you," grinned Larrabie.
He's got to die, by gum," the old sheepman said, his eyes like frozen stars. "We all have to do that. Just when does my time come?" Weaver asked. "Now," cried Sanderson, with a bitter oath. Phil swallowed hard. He had grown white beneath the tan. The thing they were about to do seemed awful to him. "Good God! You're not going to murder him, are you?" protested Larrabie.
"Gather up the other end of the rope, loop it, and tie his feet together," the nester ordered, getting his sentence out in fragmentary jerks. Phil did so, deftly and expertly, after which, in spite of renewed struggles, they tied the hands of their prisoner behind his back. "Looks like a cyclone had hit the room," said the boy, glancing at the debris. Larrabie laughed.
She shuddered. Flame jets were already shooting out here and there. "I wouldn't let you go back for the world. We didn't get out too soon." "No," he agreed. A sniveling voice behind them broke in: "Where is Mr. Phil? I yain't seen him yet." Larrabie swung round on 'Rastus like a flash. "What do you mean? He's at the round-up, of course." The little fellow began to bawl: "No, sah.
For the girl that sufficed, but it was not enough for the man. He knew that he had found the one woman he wanted for his wife. But Phyllis only wondered, let her thoughts rove over many things. For instance, why queer throbs and sudden shyness swept her soft young body. She liked Larrabie Keller oh, so much! but her untutored heart could not quite tell her whether she loved him.
"You tell them you think Weaver is in her room, and I'll tell them my little spiel." "There's no need telling them about me shooting Weaver, far as I can see. I'd rather they didn't know." "For that matter, there's no need telling them your notions about where Buck is right now." Tom said nothing, but his dogged look told Larrabie that he was not persuaded.
This from the reporter, ruminatingly. "I sent him on to Larrabie." "Bet you a hundred that Larrabie never sees him!" "I'll take that," said the reporter. But Fox-face, perceiving better ones, changed the terms of his proffered wager. "Bet you a hundred you never hear from him, even if he does meet Condit." He hurled this at the huge man, disdaining the reporter.
Let me go!" cried Tom furiously. "You've got no business to keep me here." "I'm doing it for pleasure, say." The other tried to break away, but Larrabie had caught his arm and twisted it in such a way that he could not move without great pain. Impotently he writhed and cursed. Meanwhile his captor relieved him of his revolver, and, with a sudden turn, dropped him to the ground and stepped back.
Larrabie smiled as the young fellow went off for a walk in obviously confidential talk with Anna Allan, but he learned soon that it was no smiling matter. Half an hour later, the girl came flying back along the trail the two had taken. Catching sight of Keller, she ran across to him, plainly quivering with excitement and fluttering with fears. "Oh, Mr. Keller I've done it now!
You're going to get the chance to tell that story to one, I expect," Larrabie remarked dryly. "Pass it up this time, and I'll get out of the country," the youth promised. "Take care! Whatever you say will be used against you." "Suppose I did rustle one of Buck Weaver's calves mind, I don't say I did but say I did? Didn't he bust my father up in business?
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