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Updated: June 27, 2025
The rest of the story was blotted from the mind of Vic Gregg by the thud of a heavy heel on the veranda, and then the broad shoulders of Blondy Hansen darkened the doorway, Blondy Hansen dressed for the dance, with the knot of his black silk handkerchief turned to the front and above that the gleam of his celluloid collar.
Lueder, a Cornell tackle, one of the best in his day, mentions a personal affair that occurred in the Penn game in 1900, between Blondy Wallace and himself. Blondy's friends when they read this will think he had an off day in his general football courtesy. Lueder states: "When I was trying to take advantage of my opponent, I was outwitted and was told to play on the square.
During the past year or so word had reached him rumor unfounded, but insistent that more than once Singleton and Blondy Antrim, the outlaw, had been seen together. He had placed no credence in the rumors, ascribing them to the imaginations of mischievous brains, prejudiced against Singleton because of his bluff, dominant manner.
The officer cleared his throat and looked away. "Oh," he muttered carelessly, "it's all right. You people are always kicking, anyway." Rhona's voice rose. "I ask you to arrest him." Several in the crowd backed this with mutterings. The policeman twirled his stick. "Oh, all right!" he called. "Come along, Blondy!" Blondy, the thug, came up grinning. "Pinching me, John?" he asked. "Sure."
An' who clumb off but Lawler an' his trail crew twenty-three of 'em. An' Blondy Antrim in the midst of 'em, lookin' like a sheep-killin' dog. "Well, gentlemen, they was a scene. Warden got his face all screwed up an' couldn't get it unscrewed ag'in. He looked like he'd swallered a hot brandin' iron an' it didn't lay easy on his stummick.
Betty had sent Hansen, dressed manifestly for the festival, to gloat over Vic in Lorrimer's place. He was at it already. "All turned out for the dance, Blondy, eh? Takin' a girl?" "Betty Neal," answered Blondy. "The hell you are!" inquired Lorrimer, mildly astonished. "I thought why, Vic's back in town, don't you know that?" "He ain't got a mortgage on what she does."
Gregg stiffened for the benefit of Hansen and Tommy Aiken. "Pretty near through," he said carelessly. "Thought I'd drop down to Alder for a day or two and get the kinks out. Hello, Blondy. Hey, Tommy!" Tommy Aiken flashed a grin at him, but Tommy was not quite sure that the rules permitted speaking, even under such provocation as the return of Vic Gregg, so he maintained a desperate silence.
"Meanin' that mornin' when Kane Lawler hopped off the train with his bunch of cowhands an' Blondy Antrim," snickered Corwin. "Dave Singleton an' Gary Warden an' Jordan an' Simmons an' that pony-built girl which is stayin' over to the Two Diamond with that ossified woman she calls 'Aunt Hannah, was on the platform waitin' for the six o'clock train from the east.
Suddenly Blondy jammed on the brakes and almost lost me through the windshield. An enormous full-grown deer loomed directly in front of the headlights. There he stood, head thrown back, nostrils distended, monarch of all he surveyed. A moment longer he posed, then leaped away into the darkness, leaving us wondering if we had really seen anything.
"Vic," said Blondy, "it looks like you mean trouble. Anyway, you just now done something that needs explaining." He stood straight as a soldier, rigid, but the fingers of his right hand twitched, twitched, twitched; the hand itself stole higher. Very calmly, Vic hunted for his words, found them.
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