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Then my aunt surprised me by throwing her arms around Deolda and kissing her and calling her "my poor lamb," while Deolda leaned up against my aunt as if she were her own little girl and snuggled up in a way that would break your heart. One afternoon soon after old Conboy brought Deolda home before tea time, and as she jumped out: "Oh, all right!" he called after her.
Dora, yawning, disheveled, appeared in the dining-room door at that moment, tying her all-enveloping white apron around her like Poor Polly Bawn. She blushed when she saw Morgan, and put up her hands to smooth her hair. "I had the best sleep last night I can remember in a coon's age I felt so safe," she said. "You always was safe enough," Conboy told her, not in the best of humor. "Safe enough!
These fellers'll have to learn better than that with this new man. I know him of old he's a man that always brings in the meat." "But he didn't try to escape," Morgan protested. "He was so drunk he didn't know whether he was coming or going." Conboy looked at him disfavoringly, as if to warn him to be discreet in matters of such remote concern to him as this.
"I suppose it means that the collection will be deferred," Morgon said, grinning over the city marshal's easy cut to generosity. "Indefinitely postponed," said Conboy, gloomily. "I'm goin' to put all my good cigars in the safe, and do it right now." "Here's something you may put in the safe for me, too," said Morgan, handing over his pocketbook. "Ain't you goin' to leave town?"
We were all thinking of what old Conboy had said just before Captain Hammar had flung open the door. A sudden impulse seized me; I wanted to cry out: "Don't go, Johnny. He'll shove you overboard." For I knew that was what was in "Nick" Hammar's mind as well as if he had told me. A terrible excitement went through me.
I won't make you happy; I never pretended I would. And as for him killing me, how do you know, Conboy, I mightn't lose my temper first?" "He'll break you," said Conboy. "God! but he's a man without pity! Don't you know how he drives his men? Don't you know the stories about his first wife? He's put some of his magic on you.
She had no legal authority to enter any establishment where the proprietor objected, and even in other cases, where permission had been given, she discovered afterwards to her dismay that her visits had led to the dismissal of those who had in all innocence given her information, as in the case quoted of Sister Annie Conboy, a worker in a mill, in Auburn, New York.
Morgan waited until they came up, when, with a sign toward Craddock, which relinquished all interest in and responsibility for him to the posse comitatus, he turned away to hasten to Fred Stilwell's side. Tom Conboy had reached the fallen youth he was little more than a boy and was kneeling beside him, lifting his head. "God! they killed a woman over there and a man!" Conboy said. "Is he dead?"
"I want to write out a weddin' present for Deolda," he said. "Wouldn't do to have her without a penny." So he wrote out a check for her. And then in two months old Conboy died and left every other cent to Deolda. You might have imagined him sardonic and grinning over it, looking across at Deolda's luck from the other side of the grave. But what had happened wasn't luck.
Morgan said no more, but turned toward the door to leave. "The inquest hasn't been held over him yet, we've been kept so busy with the marshal's cases we didn't get around to him," Conboy explained. "Maybe you can throw some light on that case?" "I can throw a lot of it," Morgan said, and walked out with that word to where he had left his horse.
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