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But now, since the express robbery, it won't be necessary for me to tell you not to nose around my house, for you're goin' to ride straight out of Socorro County, an' you ain't comin' back any more. If you do, I reckon you'll discover that Socorro's present leniency ain't elastic enough to be stretched to cover your home-comin'."
In other words, you're an outlaw; a soft-spoken, lazy, good-for-nothin' road-agent. An' though Socorro ain't never had anything on you before, it knows you had a hand in robbin' the express office last night. An' it's " "You're a damn " " like playin' a king-full against three deuces that you done the trick.
That's the reason you picked me out for the express job." He scowled as his eyes took in the meagre details of Socorro's one street. Because of long association these details had become mental fixtures. Socorro had been his home for ten years, and in ten years things grow into a man's heart. And civic pride had been his one great virtue.
"I reckon we was," returned Texas coldly; "that's why I came here. I'm goin' to take that five thousand back to Socorro with me!" And now Buck used his right hand. But quick as he was, he was late. Rankin's gun gaped at him across the table the while his own weapon lagged tardily half-way in its holster. "I'm goin' to be a man again," said Texas.
Light winds and calms prevailed the whole day. About 2 p.m. we were off the island of Socorro. In the afternoon a large shoal of whales came round the yacht. I was below when they first made their appearance, and when I came on deck they were spouting up great jets of water in all directions, suggestive of the fountains at the Crystal Palace.
Mary Jane continued with her dishes, looking at her father over her shoulder with a mild unconcern. "At San Marcial?" she said wonderingly. "I didn't know he had left Socorro!" "A week now," returned Webster with much complacence. "Fired him from Socorro for doin' that express job. Socorro's bad enough without Texas "
Hate us? Why, she'll be poisonous. Ninety miles in the sun, at ninety in the shade. Water once at the Mal Pais, and it alkali." I reminded Dan Anderson that in view of his promise to absent himself at the time of the arrival of the Socorro stage, he was not conducting himself with the proper regard either to decorum or historical accuracy. "I want to go," said Dan Anderson, "and I ought to go.
Here was the clue, and Whitehill was quick to follow it. Meeting a negro on the street, he pretended to want to hire a cook. The negro had a job. Well, did he not know some one else? By the way, where was George Cleveland? "Oh, boss, he done left de Gila dis week an' gone ober to Socorro," was the answer.
'Thar's a party, now deceased a whole lot the Stranblers over in Socorro sort o' chaperones this yere gent to a cottonwood an' excloodes the air from his lungs with a lariat for mebby it's an hour-an' this party I'm alloodin' at, which his name is Fowler, is plumb murderous.
"An' so I'm to leave Socorro." He looked dully at the sheriff. "Why, of course, there's the circumstantial evidence." His eyes swept the shanties, the street, the timber-dotted sides of the mountains that rose above the town familiar landmarks of his long sojourn; landmarks that brought pleasant memories.
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