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Updated: June 11, 2025
"I don't care a curse if you kill every darn horse between here and the Landing," he said. "Commandeer all you need and plenty. I don't care what you do. You've got to bring Allenwood back alive, or or break your darn neck." And Belton had needed no urging. He had cut down the month's journey to the Theton River to something like twenty days.
Millie picked up the hat he had flung on the side table and hung it on a peg of the coat rack. "What would I have you do?" she said, ignoring the rest of his remarks for the thought in her mind, and coming back to his chair and resting her plump hand on his crisp hair. "Why something else besides think of these scalliwag Indians. I'm all worried to death about Nita Allenwood and Steve."
Stephen Allenwood was a police officer who represented the white man's law in a district as wide as a good-sized European country, and these scouts were his only assistants. They were at headquarters now enjoying a brief respite from the endless trail which claimed all their life and energies.
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