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Who are you talking about?" "I'm talking about David Dingwell." "What do you mean that he knows too much? Too much about what?" she demanded. "About the express robbery." "Do you mean to say that that my people ?" She choked with anger, but back of her indignation was fear. "I mean to say that one of your brothers was guarding Dingwell and that later your father went up to Meldrum's place.
She remembered that her father had made to her no explanation of that scene in which she and Dave Dingwell had played the leading parts. There had been many journeyings back and forth on the part of the boys and Charlton and her uncle, Buck Rutherford. They had a way of getting off into a corner of the corral and talking low for hours at a time. And now Street had come into the tangle.
He thought of all those who had come into his life in connection with the Big Creek country trouble. His father, his mother, Dave Dingwell, Pat Ryan, Jess Tighe, the whole Rutherford clan, including Beulah! One quality they all had in common, the gameness to see out to a finish anything they undertook. He could not go through life a confessed coward. The idea was intolerably humiliating.
The horse in its lunges pounded closer. Fox backed away, momentarily alarmed. "Here you, hold your brute off. It'll be on top of me in a minute," he screamed. Apparently Dingwell had lost all control of the bucker. Somehow he still stuck to the saddle, by luck rather than skill it appeared. His arms, working like windmills, went up as Teddy shot into the air again.
"The ver-ry same Hal and Buck and a brood of young hellions they have raised." "But why should they kidnap Mr. Dingwell? If they had anything against him, why wouldn't they kill him?" "If the Rutherfords have got him it is because he knows something they want to know. Listen, and I'll tell you what I think."
From a passer-by he learned that Sweeney had gone into the Legal Tender a few minutes before. In front of that saloon he dismounted. Fifty yards down the street three men were walking toward him. He recognized them as Buck Rutherford, Sanders, and Chet Fox. The little man walked between the other two and told his story excitedly. Dingwell did not wait for them.
"I've got an engagement to meet your father and he won't let me go," blurted out Fox. "When did you make that hurry-up appointment, Chet?" laughed Dingwell. "You didn't seem in no manner of hurry when you was lying in the mesquite back there at Lonesome Park." "You've got no business to keep him here. He can go if he wants to," flashed the young woman. "You hear that, Chet.
He had something he wanted to tell Sweeney and he passed at once into the saloon. The Old-Timer Sits into a Big Game The room into which Dingwell had stepped was as large as a public dance-hall. Scattered in one part or another of it, singly or in groups, were fifty or sixty men.
The bleeding has stopped except when I move." "Why didn't you say something about it?" she asked impatiently. "Do you think we're clairvoyants? We'd better get him into the house and look at it, Mr. Dingwell." They did as she suggested. A bullet had ploughed a furrow across the shoulder. Except for the loss of blood, the wound was not serious.
So the dreamer wove the web of his fancy about her, and the mystery that was Beulah Rutherford lay near his thoughts when he walked or rode or ate or talked. Nor did it lessen his interest in her that he felt she despised him. The flash of her scornful eyes still stung him. He was beyond caring whether she thought him a spy. He knew that the facts justified him in his attempt to save Dingwell.
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