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Burton reached out suddenly and clutched Jimmie Dale's arm. "Then I'm safe!" He mumbled the words, but there was dawning hope, relief in his white face. "Safe! I'm safe if you'll only give me back those stones. Give them back to me, for God's sake give them back to me! You don't know you don't understand. I stole them because because he made me because I it was the only chance I had.
"Free range or not, it as good as belongs to the Bar S." "Old Salt used to run quite a bunch round Cabin Hill and another north near the Slue." "He does yet one or two thousand head in all, maybe. Oh, these fellers ain't foolish enough to crowd Old Salt that close. They know Dale's is their best chance." Racey's eyes travelled, from one ridge to the other.
"Which I neglected to add," said Jimmie Dale, "was to be made in private." Carling, as though to put as much distance between them as possible, continued to edge back across the room but his small black eyes, black now to the pupils themselves, never left Jimmie Dale's face. "In private, eh?" he seemed to be sparring for time, as he smiled. "In private!
I will lay you starting price." Somewhat taken aback, though nothing said or done by Viscount Medenham could really surprise him, Dale's leather garments creaked and groaned while he produced the coin, which his master duly pocketed.
Then the east kindled, the gray lightened, the dreaming woodland awoke to the far-reaching rays of a bursting red sun. This was always the happiest moment of Dale's lonely days, as sunset was his saddest. He responded, and there was something in his blood that answered the whistle of a stag from a near-by ridge.
Each instant Dale's ideas became clearer; each instant his heart throbbed with a deeper anxiety. At last, when the four-wheeler disappeared from sight round an angle of the rain-soaked boulevard, he yielded to impulse and ran into the hotel. French people are early risers, but the visitors to Calais that morning were astir at an hour when most of the hotel staff were still sound asleep.
Lionel had the tastes of a typical country gentleman, and he found ample leisure to indulge in his favourite amusement of hunting, after having conscientiously discharged his duties. The poor of Hallgrove had good reason to congratulate themselves on the fact that their rector was a rich man. Mr. Dale's charities seemed almost boundless to his happy parishioners.
"I didn't suppose you'd been out here long enough to lose your head." "I'd certainly lose it if the Shawnees got me," I good-naturedly retorted. My poor jest brought a rumble of laughter from the men and added to Dale's resentment, which I greatly regretted. John Ward glided to my side and said: "You talk like a child. I have been long among the Indians. They did not take my head."
Jimmie Dale's slim, sensitive fingers closed on the dial's knob, his head touched the steel front of the safe as he pressed his ear against it for the tumblers' fall. And then silence.
"He got there just after the cowboy plugged Jeff. An' thet big-eyed girl, she came runnin' in, too. An' she keeled over in Dale's arms. Las Vegas shoved him out cussed him so hard we all heerd.... So, Beasley, there ain't no fight comin' off as we figgered on." Beasley thus heard the West speak out of the mouth of his own man.
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