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Updated: June 19, 2025
Perhaps the page which lay face down was the page of the photograph. She half longed, half dreaded that a flutter of wind or a passing foot might turn the paper over. What could the girl have meant by saying, "I hope they won't be killed?" Could Angela have read Theo Dene's mind the day at Santa Barbara, this picture and paragraph would have been less mysterious to her. "I wonder if Mrs.
He did so, and was at once seized upon by one of the men, who badly needed assistance; and for half an hour Dene was kept hard at work. There was a fearful din; but presently he heard the warning whistle, and was making his way for the gangway when he was stopped by the fur coat and waved back again. "No time to go ashore, my man," said the dwarf, speaking for the first time in Dene's hearing.
"If I had not turned up she might have become en- gaged to you." "Hang might!"Would, then." "If you had not come I should certainly yes, certainly have been accepted by this time. If you had not seen her you might have been married to Fanny. Well, there's too much difference between Miss Ever- dene's station and your own for this flirtation with her ever to benefit you by ending in marriage.
"Well, well, Silvermane, to think I'd live to see you wearing a saddle and bridle! He's even bigger than I thought. There's a horse, Hare! Never will be another like him in this desert. If Dene ever sees that horse he'll chase him to the Great Salt Basin. Dene's crazy about fast horses. He's from Kentucky, somebody said, and knows a horse when he sees one." "How are things?" queried Dave.
He laid Dene in grave thirty-one. It was the grave that the outlaw had promised as the last resting-place of Dene's spy. Chance and Culver he buried together. It was noteworthy that no Mormon rites were conferred on Culver, once a Mormon in good standing, nor were any prayers spoken over the open graves. What did August Naab intend to do? That was the question in Hare's mind as he left the house.
Neither did the mask-like stillness of their faces change. But Hare saw in their eyes a pointed clear flame, vibrating like a compass-needle, a mere glimmering spark. "I'd like to know," continued Dave, calmly poking the fire, "who hired Dene's men to plug the waterhole. Dene couldn't do that. He loves a horse, and any man who loves a horse couldn't fill a waterhole in this desert."
Then his right hand quivered and shot downward. Naab's act was even quicker. A Colt gleamed and whirled to the grass, and the outlaw cried as his arm cracked in the Mormon's grasp. Dave Naab leaped off the bank directly in front of Dene's approaching companions, and faced them, alert and silent, his hand on his hip.
In the slow, guarded instant when Hare's gaze held Holderness and the other men, a low murmuring ran through the room. "Dene's spy!" suddenly burst out Holderness. Hare slapped his face. Then he backed a few paces with his right arm held before him almost as high as his shoulder, the wrist rigid, the fingers quivering. "Don't try to draw, Holderness.
"Dene's spy!" they cried. The circle opened and closed upon him. He saw bound rustlers under armed guard. Four still forms were on the ground. Holderness lay outstretched, a dark-red blot staining his gray shirt. Flinty-faced Mormons, ruthless now as they had once been mild, surrounded the rustlers.
Dene's eyes glittered as he pulled off his gauntlets and beat the sand out of them; and but for that quick fierce glance his leisurely friendly manner would have disarmed suspicion. "Are you the Mormon Naab?" he queried. "August Naab, I am." "Dry camp, eh? Hosses tired, I reckon. Shore it's a sandy trail. Where's the rest of you fellers?"
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