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Updated: May 7, 2025
It was worth a great deal more than Creede's gold-belt. He knew this. He didn't want to trade. But I coaxed him. I persuaded him to leave camp to walk out on the road to Bannack. To meet the stage somewhere and go on to Bannack, and stay a few days. He sure was curious.
Creede's scorn for this new policy of peace had never been hidden, although even in his worst cursing spells he had never quite named the boss.
His huge, hairy hand tapped the nugget. Then Kells caught the implication. "What does it say to you?" he queried, coolly, and he eyed Gulden and then the grim men behind him. "Somebody in the gang is crooked. Somebody's giving you the double-cross. We've known that for long. Jim Cleve goes out to kill Creede. He comes in with Creede's gold-belt and a lie!... We think Cleve is the crooked one."
And Rufus Hardy, quick to understand, gazed also at the arid slopes, where once the grama had waved like tawny hair in the soft winds and the cattle of Jeff Creede's father had stood knee-high in flowers. Now at last the secret of Arizona-the-Lawless and Arizona-the-Desert lay before him: the feed was there for those who could take it, and the sheep were taking it all.
The gather was a fizzle, for some reason, though Miss Kitty rode Pinto to a finish and killed a rattlesnake with Creede's own gun. Well, they never did catch many cattle the first few days, after they had picked up the tame bunch that hung around the water, and the dry weather seemed to have driven the cows in from The Rolls.
They were a dark, grim group, with hard eyes and tight lips. Handy Oliver was speaking. "I tell you, Gulden swore he seen Creede on the road in the lamplight last night AFTER Jim Cleve got here." "Gulden must have been mistaken," declared Kells, impatiently. "He ain't the kind to make mistakes," replied Oliver. "Gul's seen Creede's ghost, thet's what," suggested Blicky, uneasily.
Creede's worth, for either way it is creditable to him to his intelligence if he had put himself, even temporarily, into contact with metropolitan culture; to his candor if he had not. One pleasant summer evening at about the hour of ten Mr.
A sudden memory of Creede's saying that he could lose his boss any time within half a mile of camp startled Hardy out of his dreams and he rode swiftly forward upon the trail. At the foot of the hill the tracks of Judge Ware's broad shoes with their nice new hob-nails stood out like a bas-relief, pointing up the river.
"Creede's cot is on the side of the tent opposite the tree. You won't have to go inside. Slit the canvas. It's a rotten old tent. Kill Creede with your knife.... Get his belt.... Be bold, cautious, swift! That's your job. Now what do you say?" "All right," responded Cleve, somberly, and with a heavy tread he left the room. After Jim had gone Joan still watched and listened.
You happened to see Creede and went after him yourself.... Well, I don't see where you've any kick coming. For you've ten times the money in Cleve's nugget that there was in a share of Creede's gold." "That's not my kick," declared Gulden. "What you say about Cleve may be true. But I don't believe it. And the gang is sore. Things have leaked out. We're watched.
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