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Updated: May 27, 2025
Reckon I'll need to be tied up, but I ain't hurt much." "Colmor's hit," called the voice of Gordon, a few yards distant. "Help me, somebody!" Jean ran to help Gordon uphold the swaying Colmor. "Are you hurt-bad?" asked Jean, anxiously. The young man's head rolled and hung. He was breathing hard and did not reply. They had almost to carry him.
"But, Jean, it's Ann's father," he said. "I'm almost one of the family." "You're Ann's sweetheart, an', by Heaven, I say you oughtn't to go with us!" whispered Jean. "Go with you," faltered Ann. "Yes. Dad is goin' straight after Jorth. Can't you tell that? An' there 'll be one hell of a fight." Ann looked up into Colmor's face with all her soul in her eyes, but she did not speak.
Jean watched them, as they conversed apart; and he saw Ann's hands creep up to Colmor's breast, and he saw her dark eyes, eloquent, hungry, fearful, lifted with queries her lips did not speak. Jean stepped beside them, and laid an arm over both their shoulders. "Colmor, for Ann's sake you'd better back out of this Jorth-Isbel fight," he whispered. Colmor looked insulted.
But Colmor showed nothing of her spiritual reaction. He was young. He had wild blood. He was loyal to the Isbels. "Jean, never worry about my conscience," he said, with a keen look. "Nothin' would tickle me any more than to get a shot at every damn one of the Jorths." That established Colmor's status in regard to the Jorth-Isbel feud. Jean had no more to say.
"Jean, this is my friend, Andrew Colmor." Jean knew when he met Colmor's grip and the keen flash of his eyes that he was glad Ann had set her heart upon one of their kind. And his second impression was something akin to the one given him in the road by the admiring lad. Colmor's estimate of him must have been a monument built of Ann's eulogies. Jean's heart suffered misgivings.
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