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Updated: May 9, 2025
He says you promised to show him off Quien Sabe at the toe of your boot and that he's going to give you the chance to-night!" "Ah," commented Annixter, nodding his head, "he is, is he?" Presley was disappointed. Knowing Annixter's irascibility, he had expected to produce a more dramatic effect. He began to explain the danger of the business.
I wouldn't even want a single servant." Annixter heard and his face grew troubled. "Hum," he said, "I see." He gathered up a handful of pebbles and began snapping them carefully into the creek. He fell thoughtful. Here was a phase of the affair he had not planned in the least. He had supposed all the time that Hilma took his meaning.
For the moment, one of the ploughs was out of order, a bolt had slipped, a lever refused to work, or a machine had become immobilised in heavy ground, or a horse had lamed himself. Once, even, toward noon, an entire plough was taken out of the line, so out of gear that a messenger had to be sent to the division forge to summon the machinist. Annixter had disappeared.
Annixter, whom he had spoken to first, had sent him across the ranch to one of his division superintendents, and this latter, after assuring himself of Vanamee's familiarity with horses and his previous experience even though somewhat remote on Los Muertos, had taken him on as a driver of one of the gang ploughs, then at work on his division.
He wouldn't like it, you know, if I did anything like that." "Say," exclaimed Annixter abruptly, "if the Governor says he will keep his hands off, and that you can do as you please, will you come in? For God's sake, let us ranchers act together for once. Let's stand in with each other in ONE fight." Without knowing it, Annixter had touched the right spring.
"Remember, we are not to fire first." "Perhaps that's Hooven; I can't see. Is it? There only seems to be one horse." "Too much dust for one horse." Annixter, who had taken his field glasses from Harran, adjusted them to his eyes. "That's not them," he announced presently, "nor Hooven either. That's a cart." Then after another moment, he added, "The butcher's cart from Guadalajara."
"Oh, I know they will come through the car and rob us," wailed the school-teachers. The lady with the little children went back to bed, and Annixter, assured that the trouble was over, did likewise. But nobody slept. From berth to berth came the sound of suppressed voices talking it all over, formulating conjectures. Certain points seemed to be settled upon, no one knew how, as indisputable.
He was about to sit down to his supper when his eye fell upon the Irish setter, on his haunches in the doorway. There was an expectant, ingratiating look on the dog's face. No doubt, he suspected it was time for eating. "Get out YOU!" roared Annixter in a tempest of wrath.
"I guess we're off," cried Annixter. "Good-bye, Mrs. Tree." "Remember your promise, Hilma," her mother hastened to exclaim, "to write every Sunday afternoon." There came a prolonged creaking and groan of straining wood and iron work, all along the length of the train. They all began to cry their good-byes at once.
Through the terror of the night, echoing with pistol shots, through that scene of robbery and murder, into this atmosphere of alarms, a man-hunt organising, armed horsemen silhouetted against the horizons, cases of rifles where wedding presents should have been, Annixter brought his young wife to be mistress of a home he might at any moment be called upon to defend with his life. The days passed.
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