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Updated: June 19, 2025
Nobody any longer spoke of him by his last name, except those friends who still hoped he might escape his destiny. "Go-Get-'em Jim" was his title at large. Those on more familiar terms called him "Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em." It was unfortunate for Clanton that the killing of Champa lifted him into instant popularity. Mysterious Pete had been too free with his gun. The community had been afraid of him.
It's plain enough now. After his rookus with the old man, Yankie must have got a seventy-three an' waited in the chaparral. It just happened he was lyin' hid close to where we met Clanton. It beats the Dutch." "An' if Jim hadn't escaped he'd have been hanged for killin' Webb." "That's right, sheriff. On my testimony, too. Say, let me go to the Governor with these papers an' git the pardon.
Pauline clapped her hands. "What a splendiferous idea! It's a great chance for you, Jim. You and Billie can do it too. I know you can." The other young woman had recognized Prince only by a casual nod. It was her custom to ignore him as much as possible. Now her dark, velvety eyes jumped to meet his, then passed to Clanton. She recognized the significance of the moment.
Near the summit Jean with the buckboard met the party from the cañon. He helped Clanton to the seat and drove to the house. Webb cantered up. "What's this I hear about you, Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em? They tell me you've made four good Injuns to-day, shot up a renegade, rescued this young lady here, 'most rode one of my horses to death, an' got stove up in the foot yore own self.
"Would a man have to wait for the reward until Clanton was convicted?" the traitor asked roughly. "A thousand would be paid as soon as the arrest was made, the rest when he was convicted," said Prince coldly. "Will you put that in writin', Mr. Sheriff?" The chill eyes of the officer drilled into those of the rustler.
Yankie closed his eyes wearily, but by sheer strength of will Prince recalled him from the doze into which he was slipping. "Did you kill Homer Webb?" "Yes." "Had Clanton anything to do with it?" "No." A film gathered over the eyes of the dying man. The lids closed. Billie adjusted the pillow a little more comfortably and rose. He could do no more for him at present and he must set about his work.
His clear duty was to go out and capture Jim alive or dead. Not for a moment did Billie doubt what he would do. He had pledged himself to blot out the "bad man," and he would go through no matter what the cost to his personal feelings. A slow anger at Clanton burned in him. Why had he done this wanton and lawless thing?
He saw clearly that Clanton had come to the parting of the ways and had unconsciously made his choice for life. From this time he would be known as a bad man. The brand of the killer would be on him and he would have to make good his reputation. He would have to live without friends, without love, in the dreadful isolation of one who is watched and feared by all.
With perfect accuracy the loop descended upon its victim and tightened about his waist, pinning the arms close to the body. Clanton, hauled in the rawhide swiftly. Dragged from his feet, Roush could make no resistance. Before he could gather his startled wits, he found himself dangling in midair against the face of the rock wall.
This one was constructed of two sixteen-foot poles with a canvas lashed from one bar to the other. The horse was harnessed between the ends of the shafts, the other ends dragging on the ground. Clanton looked at this device distastefully. "I'm no squaw. Whyfor can't I climb on its back an' ride?" "Because you are seeck. It iss of the importance that you do not exert yourself. Voyons!
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