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Updated: May 8, 2025
Between its muzzle and Blenham's broad chest there was but the brief distance of some fifty feet. The report of Barbee's rifle, the thin upcurling smoke under the new sun these were the chief matters in all the world for their little fragment of time. Then Blenham threw out his arms and pitched forward. His foot caught in the stirrup.
There in the pitch dark, for no man to see the how of it, this is perhaps what had happened: There had been the old, long-rowelled Mexican spur hanging on the wall; Royce's shoulder or Blenham's had knocked it down; their feet had pushed it out to the middle of the floor. They had fallen, together, heavily; they had rolled. Blenham had gone over on his face, Royce's hands worrying him. The spur
All right; that's jus' the run of luck, rotten luck!" Under the words the restraint was gone and his rage flared out briefly. But it was patent that Blenham's shrewdness was still with him. He continued almost calmly: "You an' him can have two words together. Then come back here an' give me your promises, both of you, to let me go. Then I'll let her go. Otherwise, I'm as good as dead an' so's she.
Barbee, previsioning defeat at Blenham's hard hand, suffering in his youthful pride, had given birth, deep within him, to an undying hatred. And Blenham, for his own reasons and after his own fashion, was bursting with rage. "Get up, Barbee," he yelled. "Get up an', so help me " "I'm goin' to kill you, Blenham," said Barbee faintly, lifting himself a little, his blue eyes swimming.
I had rather be dead or yes, I'd rather be in Blenham's arms than have you look at me!" "Good Lord!" ejaculated Steve, utterly at sea. "I don't understand." "You don't have to," snapped Terry. "All you've got to know is that I won't have anything further in any way whatever to do with you.
"You stay here, Terry. "Will I?" Terry retorted with animation. "Not on your life, Steve Packard! If this is the beginning of Blenham's finish Well, I'm in on it." Terry had sensed something of the truth. In its way here was the beginning of the end of many things.
A sharp glance about him as he lighted a lamp on the table showed Packard dust and disuse everywhere excepting the few untidy signs of Blenham's recent occupancy.
The man's glance running over Terry Temple's girlishness was like the crawling of a slug over a wild flower and supplied a new and perhaps the key-note to Blenham's ugliness.
"We've got them behind us, haven't we?" he asked. Terry nodded quickly. "Yes. We've got the head start and they're on horseback. It's no trick to beat them to it. But Oh, I saw a look on Blenham's face to-night! He's bad, Steve Packard; all bad; the kind that stops at nothing! And somehow, somehow he's got a strangle-hold on poor old dad and is making him do this.
The ever-ready Packard temper was getting into Steve's head, beating in his temples, pounding along his pulses. He had never had a man bait him like that before. But he strove to remember Blenham only, to take stock of the fact that this was a bit of Blenham's game, and that any trouble with another than Blenham was to be avoided at this juncture.
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