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Updated: May 21, 2025
Conboy made a warning of his peculiar expression, as if he halted Morgan on ground that was dangerous to advance over as far as another word. It was impressive, almost threatening, given in his deep voice, with grave eye and face suddenly stern, but Morgan knew that it was all on the outside.
Conboy turned from his watch at the street door with reluctance, to see what the visitor desired, and at the same moment Dora appeared in the doorless frame within. "Mr. Morgan!" she cried, incredulity, surprise, pleasure, mingled in her voice.
Old Conboy, tall as Mark Hammar, wide-shouldered, shambling like a bear, but a fine figure of an old fellow for all that; Mark Hammar, heavy and splendid in his sinister fashion; and between them Deolda with her big, red mouth and her sallow skin and her eyes burning as they did when she was excited.
Morgan asked. "Took the train east last night. The operator told me he got a wire from Sol Drumm, boss of the outfit, to meet him in Abilene today. He swore them six ruffians in as deputies before he went and left them in charge of the town." "Six? Where's the other one?" Conboy looked at him with quick flashing of his shifty eyes.
"You seem to be gettin' mighty flush with money around this joint," he said, severe censure in his tone. "He dropped it the man the marshal shot dropped it it was his," the girl explained. "I wouldn't touch it!" she shuddered, "not for anything in the world!" "Huh!" said Conboy, easily, entirely undisturbed by the dead man's money in his pocket. "My God!
"I fell among thieves," Morgan told her, gravely. Then to Conboy: "Is that gang from Texas stopping here?" "No, they lay up at Peden's on the floor where they happen to fall," Conboy replied. "If there ever was a curse turned loose on a town that gang look at that showcase, look at that door, look at that safe.
"Some fool shootin' off his gun," Morgan heard a man growl as he passed under a window of a thin-sided house, from which the excited voices of women came like the squeaks of unnested mice. "What was goin' on back there?" Conboy inquired as Morgan approached the hotel. The proprietor was a little way out from his door, anxiety, rather than interest, in his face.
And the way the old man spoke lifted the hair on my head. Then all of us were quiet, for there stood Captain Hammar himself. "Why, Mark, I thought you'd gone down the Cape!" said Conboy. "I lost the train," he answered. "Well, what about that vessel you was going to buy in Gloucester?" "I got to sail over," said Captain Hammar. Conboy glanced out of the window.
"You see what you get," said my aunt, "if you marry that girl." "I'll get worse not marrying her," said Conboy. "I may die any minute; I've a high blood pressure, and maybe a stroke will carry me off any day. But I've never wanted anything in many years as I want to hold Deolda in my arms." "Shame on you!" cried my aunt. "An old man like you!" So things went on. Johnny kept right on coming.
Conboy was of the number who could see no existence for Ascalon but a vicious one, yet he was no partisan of Seth Craddock, having a soreness in his recollection of many indignities suffered at the hands of the city marshal's Texas friends, even of Craddock's overriding and sardonic disdain. Yet he would rather have Craddock, and the town open, than Morgan and stagnation.
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