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Updated: June 16, 2025
You know, Buck, thet among us fellers us hunted men there ain't anythin' calculated to rouse respect like a slick hand with a gun. I heard Bland say this afternoon an' he said it serious-like an' speculative thet he'd never seen your equal. He was watchin' of you close, he said, an' just couldn't follow your hand when you drawed. All the fellers who seen you meet Bosomer had somethin' to say.
"Reckon he's dead, all right, or nobody'd hev his hoss an' guns," presently said Euchre. "Mister Duane," began Bosomer, in low, stinging tones, "I happen to be Luke Stevens's side-pardner." Duane looked him over, from dusty, worn-out boots to his slouchy sombrero. That look seemed to inflame Bosomer. "An' I want the hoss an' them guns," he shouted.
Wish he would. Slickest hand with a gun I've seen for many a day! I'd like to see him and Chess meet out there in the road. Then Bland went on to tell how you and Bosomer came together." "What did you say?" inquired Duane, as she paused. "Me? Why, I asked him what you looked like," she replied, gayly. "Well?" went on Duane. "Magnificent chap, Bland said. Bigger than any man in the valley.
Only now it was different, more powerful. "Stranger, who are you?" asked another man, somewhat more civilly. "My name's Duane," replied Duane, curtly. "An' how'd you come by the hoss?" Duane answered briefly, and his words were followed by a short silence, during which the men looked at him. Bosomer began to twist the ends of his beard.
Somehow he understood this yellow-eyed Bosomer. The outlaw had come out to kill him. And now, though somewhat checked by the stand of a stranger, he still meant to kill. Like so many desperadoes of his ilk, he was victim of a passion to kill for the sake of killing. Duane divined that no sudden animosity was driving Bosomer. It was just his chance. In that moment murder would have been joy to him.
Still Bland's no coward, an' if you came across him at a bad moment you'd have to be quicker 'n you was with Bosomer." "All right. I'll meet what comes," said Duane, quickly. "The great point is to have horses ready and pick the right moment, then rush the trick through." "Thet's the ONLY chance fer success. An' you can't do it alone." "I'll have to. I wouldn't ask you to help me.
The man called Bosomer, who had stepped forward, had a forbidding face which showed yellow eyes, an enormous nose, and a skin the color of dust, with a thatch of sandy hair. "Stranger, who are you an' where in the hell did you git thet bay hoss?" he demanded. His yellow eyes took in Stevens's horse, then the weapons hung on the saddle, and finally turned their glinting, hard light upward to Duane.
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