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Updated: June 8, 2025
As they rode into the Concho, they saw that Corliss's horse was in the corral. Their first anger had cooled, yet they gazed sullenly at Loring. They were dissatisfied with his interpretation of the killing and not a little puzzled. "Where's Fernando?" queried Shoop aggressively. Loring put the question aside with a wave of his hand. "Jest a minute afore I go.
She was thinking of Will when she rode in to the rancho and turned her horse over to Miguel. Suddenly she flushed, remembering John Corliss's eyes as he had held her in his arms.
But any adjustment must have its painful periods, and while Corliss's general change went on smoothly, in the particular case of Frona it was different. She had a code of her own, quite unlike that of the community, and perhaps believed woman might do things at which even the saloon-inhabiting males would be shocked. And because of this, she and Corliss had their first disagreeable disagreement.
Yet it was a pleasant street in spite of its improvements; in spite, too, of a long, gray smoke-plume crossing the summer sky and dropping an occasional atomy of coal upon Mr. Corliss's white coat.
"I regret this sad affair more than I can find words to express," said Basil Hurlhurst, gravely. "Mrs. Corliss's whole life almost has been spent at Whitestone Hall. You tell me, doctor, there is no hope. I can scarcely realize it." Every care and attention was shown her; but it was long hours before Mrs.
"So you're tryin' to hang somethin' onto me, eh? Well, you want to call around early you're late." "No, I'm the first one on the job. Did you stampede Loring's sheep?" "Did I stampede the love-makin'?" sneered Fadeaway. Corliss shortened rein and drew close to the cowboy. "Just explain that," he said. "Oh, I don' know. You the boss of creation?" Corliss's lips hardened.
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