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Updated: May 15, 2025
"Howdy do, Miss," responded Creede, fumbling for his hat, and as Miss Lucy took his hand the man who had put the fear of God into the hearts of so many sheep-herders became dumb and tongue-tied with bashfulness.
"Well, wouldn't that jar you," commented Creede, and then he laughed slyly. "Cheer up," he said, "it might be worse they's nothin' said about Kitty Bonnair." Sure enough not a word about Kitty, and the year before Lucy had spoken about her in every letter! There was something mysterious about it, and sinister; they both felt it.
Lucy, I'm going to put that story in my book when I get home, and but what are you laughing at, Mr. Creede?" "Who? Me?" inquired Jeff, who had been rocking about as if helpless with laughter. "W'y, I ain't laughin'!" "Yes, you are too!" accused Miss Kitty. "And I want you to tell me what it is. Don't you think Mr. Lightfoot's story is true?" "True?" echoed Creede, soberly. "W'y, sure it's true.
Dick was just out of school, and would not think of remaining behind, so it was arranged that father and son should go together. A spell of sickness had detained the father several months. Before this, however, he had hired Jack Rasco to go to Creede with him and assist in locating the new claim.
As Creede stood in his blankets, the salt sweat of yesterday still in his eyes, and that accursed blat in his ears, his nerves gave way suddenly, and he began to rave. As the discordant babel drew nearer and nearer his passion rose up like a storm that has been long brewing, his eyes burned, his dirty face turned ghastly.
"How's that?" inquired Creede, scratching his head doubtfully. Then, divining the abysmal ignorance from which the judge was speaking, he answered, with an honest twinkle in his eye: "Oh, that's all right, Judge. We always try to do what's right and we're strong for the law, when they is any." "I'm afraid there hasn't been much law up here in the past, has there?" inquired Mr. Shafer tactfully.
"Won't you let me have it for a minute?" she pleaded, and with a sheepish grin Creede handed over his gun. But if there had been another cowboy within a mile he would have hesitated, infatuated as he was.
The famine was upon them; their hips stood out bony and unsightly above their swollen stomachs as they racked across the benches, and their eyes were wild and haggard. But to the eye of Creede, educated by long experience, they were still strong and whole. The weaklings were those that hung about the water, foot-sore from their long journeyings to the distant hills and too weary to return.
"Come on, let's get back to camp." "They don't shoot in the night-time, though," grumbled Creede, leading off again. "I'll bet ye some of them Greasers has seen a ghost. Say," he cried, "the boys may be out doin' some night ridin'!" But when they rode into camp every man was in his blankets.
"Well," observed Creede, glancing at his friend as the combat raged unremittingly, "I guess we might as well pull. His busy day, you understand. Nice feller, though you'll like 'im." Once more the glint of quiet deviltry came into his eyes, but he finished out the jest soberly. "Comes from a nice Mormon family down in Moroni six brothers all sheepmen.
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