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Updated: June 9, 2025
"Casey went up close to King, said 'come on, and instantly shot him before King knew what he was saying." "Killed?" "Fatally wounded." "Where's Casey?" "In jail of course where he's safe with his friends." "Where you headed for?" "I'm going to get my gun!" said the man grimly, and began again to run. They watched his receding figure until it swung around the corner and disappeared.
Casey was laying down his own life in the deed. How could man, framed in God's image, expect ultimate good out of devilish cruelty? Yet from the world's beginning men had murdered and tortured each other on this only plea; had butchered women and the very babes; had stamped upon God's image and marvel of marvels for its soul's salvation, not for their own advantage.
"It's my ranch and my girl." "In order of merit?" "My girl and my ranch, then. But tell me: How is Sheila?" "Quite well, except for her bruises. What a plucky girl she is, Casey!" "I should say she is," he agreed heartily. "You must be friends. Somehow you never seemed to like her." "I understand her better now. I've told her about us." "Fine! And Kitty Wade?" "Yes.
Then Clyde, after much inward debate, told Casey of her presence that morning at the interview with Dade and Cross. "Well, they're quite a pair," said Casey. "They came to run some sort of a bluff, but concluded not to push it to a show-down. They'll make trouble for us, I suppose. They're simply hired men, and that's their job." "What kind of trouble?"
Once Casey happened to mention Lund, and when he saw her look of surprise he explained that he drove a stage out of Lund, for awhile. "Oh! So you are that Casey Ryan!" she said. "I might have known it." She laughed to herself, but she did not say why, and Casey was afraid to ask.
"If yore vitals is as close to your hide as what you claim," Casey had said impatiently, "an' you don't want any punctures in 'em, git to work an' git that hide of yourn outa sight. It'll take some diggin'; they's a lot of yuh to cover." Barney, therefore, dug like a badger with a dog snuffing at its tail.
"I picked it up by her bed that morning, after the murder. There is a person in the castle who saw me take it from the place where it had fallen. If any one here doubts me, let them ask a person called Margaret Casey let them ask her." That moment the door of the room opened, and Hepworth Closs stood on the threshold.
Their common love of books may have helped; for Casey Heaven knew where or how had picked up an education far above Gilbart's, and amazing in a common stoker. Also he wore some baffling, attractive mystery behind his reserve.
Edkins for the first time for 20 years, having last met them on the Flinders River when they were on their honeymoon trip, as I have already related. They now had quite a large family, and made me very welcome. I arrived at Winton driving four grey horses, the two Arabs Mr. Casey broke in for me being splendid leaders.
Casey puffed his old black pipe, grinned and aimed, shot and reloaded, sang his quaint song, and joked with his comrades, all in the same cool, quiet way. If he knew that the shadow of death hung over the train, he did not show it. He was not a thinker. Casey was a man of action. Only once he yelled, and that was when he killed the Indian on the pinto mustang.
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