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Updated: June 22, 2025
Young Pete had crept to the window and was gazing out at the sinking flames. "Say, ain't we pardners?" he queried irritably. "You said we was when you brung me up here. And pardners stick, don't they? I reckon if it was my shack that was gittin' rushed, you 'd stick, and not go bellyin' under the bunk and hidin' like a dog-gone prairie-dog." "That's all right," said Annersley.
"So I was jest puttin' what you call bluff on record, case anything happened." The sheriff, secretly in league with the cattlemen to crowd Annersley off the range, took occasion to suggest to the T-Bar-T foreman that the old man was getting cold feet which was a mistake, for Annersley had simply wished to keep within the law and avoid trouble if possible.
"Reckon I'll do what?" queried Pete. "Let The Spider or anybody like him run a whizzer on me after I run a good hoss ragged to git here with his doggone letter and then git stuck up like I was a hoss-thief? You got another guess, uncle." The old cowman's eyes twinkled. "You speak right out in meetin', don't you, son?" His drawl was easy and somehow reminded Pete of Pop Annersley.
And you was tellin' me to forget him." "But that's different, Pete. No one saw Gary shoot Annersley. It was night. Annersley was killed in his cabin by a shot through the window. Anybody might have fired that shot. Why, you were there yourself and you can't prove who done it." "I can't, eh? Well, between you and me, Jim, I know.
In vain they tried to comfort her, entreat her to wait until to-morrow before she gave up. Perhaps Geoffrey Annersley wasn't her husband. Perhaps everything was quite all right. She must try to have patience and not let herself get sick worrying in advance. "He is my husband," she suddenly announced with startling conviction. "I remember his putting the ring on my finger.
The men laughed. Pete's face was somber in the firelight. Gary! The man who had led the raid on Pop Annersley's homestead. Pete knew that he would meet Gary some day, and he was curious to see the man who was responsible for the killing of Annersley. He had no definite plan did not know just what he would do when he met him.
Annersley realized what the boy was up to and stepped forward to pull him away from the window. And in that brief moment Young Pete's career was shaped shaped beyond all question or argument by the wanton bullet that sung across the open, cut a clean hole in the window, and dropped Annersley in his tracks.
Pete's dog, hitherto asleep beneath the wagon, rose bristling, anxious to defend his young master, but afraid of the trader. The cowering dog and the cringing boy told Annersley much. Young Pete, brushing the ashes from his over-alls, rose and shaking with rage, pointed a trembling finger at the trader. "You're a doggone liar! You're a doggone coward! You're a doggone thief!"
Larry agreed somewhat less enthusiastically. Ruth lifted her hand and fell to twisting the wedding ring which was very loose on her thin little finger. "Think of being married and not knowing what your husband looks like. Poor Geoffrey Annersley! I wonder if he cares a great deal for me." "It is quite possible," said Larry Holiday grimly.
Incidentally Doris was thinking, just a little, of how well her gown and turban became her, for she had determined never to let herself become frowsy and slipshod Well she had not to look far for her antithesis. "Why, Mr. Annersley!" Pete flushed, the victim of several emotions. "Good-evenin', Miss Gray. I I thought I'd jest step in and say 'Hello' to that little kid." "Oh! Ruth?"
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