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Updated: May 2, 2025
"I'll go into court an' swear it if you'll let me be. I'll tell the jedge an' the jury that Joe Yankie told me an' Albeen an' Dumont that he bushwhacked Webb an' then cut his stick so that you-all got the blame. Honest to God, I will, Mr. Clanton. Jest you trust me an' see." "When did Yankie tell you that?" "He done told us at the camp-fire one night.
"Oh, you're doin' this thing, are you?" drawled Albeen offensively. "There's been a heap of big I talk around here lately. First off, I want to tell you that when you call Homer Webb a shorthorn cattleman you've got another guess comin'. He's a sure enough old-timer.
If Roush was the man who had tiptoed toward the horse in the pines, why had he not made sure first by shooting Albeen while he slept? There was no absolute answer to that. But it might be that the one-armed man had been dozing lightly and that Roush had not the nerve to take a chance. For if his first shot failed to kill, the betrayed man could still drop him.
"We're spendin' a lot of good money on this job. We'd ought to pull it off," Dumont whispered to Albeen. "Whose money?" asked the one-armed man cynically. It struck him as an ironic jest that the money they had got from the sale of Homer Webb's cattle should be spent to bring about the lynching of the man who had killed him.
"You won't laugh so loud when the rope's round yore gullet," retorted Albeen. "That rope ain't woven, yet," flung back the young fellow coolly. Even as he spoke a lariat whistled through the air. Jim threw up a hand and the loop slid harmlessly down the side of the car. One of the riders of the Flying V Y had tried to drag the prisoner out with a reata.
Albeen was one of those fire-eaters who would play into his hand by his reckless courage. Better have patience and watch for his chance against the one-armed gunman. "I ain't aimin' to ride you any, Albeen," he said sulkily. "Lay off'n me, then," advised the other curtly. Roush grumbled something inaudible. It might have been a promise. It might have been a protest.
I'm on fire," The officer unbuckled his canteen, lifted the head of the dying man, and let the water trickle down his throat. Gently he lowered the head again to the pillow. Then he asked a question. "Where are Albeen and Roush?" The last name was a shot in the dark, but it hit the bull's eye. "Left hours ago,"
"You're not goin' to take this fellow Clanton away. We've come to get him." "That's right," agreed Albeen. Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em grinned. "Makes twice now you've come to get me." "We didn't make it go last time. Different now," said Bancock, moving forward. "That's near enough," ordered Prince. "You've made a mistake, boys. I'm sheriff of Washington County, and this man's my prisoner."
Into town from the chaparral drifted the enemies Clanton had made during his career as a gunman. Yankie and Albeen and Dumont and Bancock moved to and fro in the crowds at the different gambling places and saloons.
What more do you want?" "Don't be in a hurry, Albeen," advised Billie. "It's easy to start something. We all know you burn powder quick. You're a sure-enough bad man. But I've got a hunch it's goin' to be your funeral as well as mine if once the band begins to play." "That so?" replied Albeen with heavy sarcasm. "You talk like you was holdin' a royal flush, my friend."
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