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Updated: May 14, 2025
There were two riders coming down the slope toward them at a pace altogether reckless. Mackenzie saw at a glance that neither of them was Hector Hall, but one a woman, her loose garments flapping as she rode. "It's Swan Carlson and his wife!" he said, unable to cover his amazement at the sight. "What do you suppose they're doing over here?"
At last it burst from him: "You done it!" he said, with the astonished pleasure of a man assured against his doubts. Mackenzie checked his horse, looking at Tim in perplexed inquiry. "What are you talking about?" he asked. "You laid him out Swan Carlson you done it! Man!" "Oh, you're still talking about that," Mackenzie said, a bit vexed.
But she was not there, and Reid was waiting for somebody to come. Swan Carlson or his wife, it must be, and what business they had before them in this unrighteous hour Mackenzie could not imagine. But plainly it had nothing to do with Joan. Mackenzie's thoughts reverted to the night he came to that cabin among the trees, guided thither by the plaintive melody of Hertha Carlson's song.
The blow staggered Carlson over upon his wife, and together they collapsed against the wall, where Carlson stood a breath, his hand thrown out to save him from a fall. Then he shook his haughty, handsome, barbarian head, and laughed again, a loud laugh, deep and strong. There was no note of merriment in that sound, no inflection of satisfaction or joy.
It had not been all a jest, then, when he proposed trading his woman for Mackenzie's. What a wild, irresponsible, sheep-mad man he was! But he hardly would attempt any violence toward Joan, even though he "spoke of her in the night." From Carlson, Mackenzie's thoughts ran out after Reid.
Joan drew a deep breath, which seemed to reach her stifling soul and revive it; a softness came into her face, a light of appreciative thankfulness into her eyes. She reined closer to Reid, eager now to hear the rest of the melancholy story. "You took the gun away from Swan; I saw it in his scabbard down there. Did you have to did you have to do anything to Carlson, Earl?"
"Yes, I suppose I am," began Betty, "but " "It's perfectly simple," broke in Eleanor. "You go straight back to the gym. and work for the two of us, while I go and invite Miss Carlson to go with me to the reception. Where did you say she lives?" "Number 50 Market Street. Oh, Eleanor, will you really take her? She's probably oh, not a bit your kind, you know," ended Betty, doubtfully.
Reid staggered against the wall, hands at his throat, blood streaming from his nostrils, bubbling from his lips as he breathed with wide-gasping mouth. He stood so a little while, then collapsed with sudden failing, no strength in him to ease the fall. Carlson turned to face Mackenzie, his icy mirth spent. "It's you?" he said. "Well, by God, it's a man, anyhow!"
Mackenzie was beating the enraged dogs apart when Swan Carlson came running around the point of the hill. Swan immediately took part in the mêlée of gnashing, rolling, rearing dogs, laying about among them with impartial hand, quickly subduing them to obedience. He stood looking stonily at Mackenzie, unmoved by anger, unflushed by exertion.
Robert C. Saunders, of the law firm of Saunders and Nelson, then testified that he was handling the case for Carlson and had made out the affidavit of complaint himself and was responsible for the portion that alleged that a lawless mob were on the boat, Carlson having made no such statement to him at any time.
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