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Updated: May 21, 2025
Looking up the Avenue through the Arch, one could see the young poplars with their bright, sticky leaves, and the Brevoort glistening in its spring coat of paint, and shining horses and carriages, occasionally an automobile, misshapen and sullen, like an ugly threat in a stream of things that were bright and beautiful and alive.
It's in all the papers," asserted Pete, rather proud of himself, despite the hazard of the situation. Arguilla's chest swelled noticeably. He rose and strutted up and down the room, as though pondering a grave and weighty question. Presently he turned to Ortez. "You have heard, señor?" Ortez nodded. And in that nod Brevoort read the whole story. Ortez was virtually a prisoner on his own ranch.
"Ain't been closed a minute for six years that I know. Mostly railroad men. And say, if you figure on being in town more than a couple of days, you can save money by taking your room by the week." "Thanks," said Brevoort. "We aim to stay a week, anyhow." "Well, they'll use you all right," asserted the conductor.
To be shut from the sun and the space of the range perhaps for life or to be sentenced to be hanged, powerless to make any kind of a fight, without friends or money . . . He thought of The Spider, of Boca, of Montoya, and of Pop Annersley; of Andy White and Bailey. He wondered if Ed Brevoort had got clear of El Paso. He knew that there was some one in the hall, waiting.
They had been breakfasting at the Brevoort and he was coaxing her to let him come up to her rooms and sing for an hour. "No, I've got to write letters. You must run along now. I see a friend of mine over there, and I want to ask him about something before I go up." "That fellow with the dog?
His winter hat was of such a complexion that the Brevoort hall boy winked at the porter as he took it and placed it on the rack in a row of fresh straw ones. That afternoon Eden Bower was lying on the couch in her music room, her face turned to the window, watching the pigeons.
Ten days later Brevoort arrived in Denver and the deal was fully consummated. As the possessor of a million, cowpunching lost its charms for Douglass, who resigned his connection with the VN interests.
Neither in his voice nor his bearing was the least trace of fatigue. "I'm goin' to need you," he told Pete. "We're short of hands right now. If you need anything over in the line shack, go git it and come along down after Ed and me." Pete took the hint and left Brevoort and Brent to ride to the house together while he rode over to the shack and warmed up some coffee and beans.
"I ain't feelin' so happy myself," muttered Brevoort, turning toward the window. Pete, sitting on the edge of the bed, noticed that Brevoort's face was tense and unnatural. Presently Brevoort tossed his cigarette out of the window and turned to Pete. "I been thinkin' it out," he began slowly. "That hunch of yours kind of got me goin'. The best thing we kin do is to get out of this town quick.
Thought if he seen somebody here he wouldn't make no quick move to follow you." "So you figured I quit you, eh? And you go and set in that winda so they'd think we was in the room here? And you done it to give me a chanct? Well, you got me wrong. I stick." "Then I reckon somebody's goin' to git hurt," said Pete, "for I'm goin' to stick too." Brevoort shook his head.
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