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Updated: May 31, 2025
The cool, steady eyes of Dingwell met the imperious ones of the other man in a long even gaze. "Nothing doing, Hal." "Even split, Dave. Fifty-fifty." The sitting man shook his head. "I'll split the reward with you when I get it. The sack goes back to the express company." "We'll see about that." Rutherford turned to his son and gave brisk orders. "Bring up the horses. We'll get out of here.
He's liable to interfere with your interior geography. . . . Say, Dingwell. Do I get to cull this bunch of longhorn skeletons you're misnaming cattle?" "You do not." The Denver man burlesqued a sigh. "Oh, well! I'll go broke dealing with you unsophisticated Shylocks of the range. The sooner the quicker. Send 'em down to the siding. I'll take the bunch." Roy rode up on a pinto. "Help!
My name is Rufus Dingwell; and my home is at Coolspring, Mass. You do not bet? I express my regret, and have the pleasure of taking a seat alongside of you. What is your name, Sir? Hethcote? We have one of that name at Coolspring. He is much respected. Mr. Claude A. Goldenheart, you are no stranger to me no, Sir.
The fifth player sat next to the wall. He was a large, broad-shouldered man close to fifty. His face had the weather-beaten look of confidence that comes to an outdoor Westerner used to leading others. While Dave was moving past this table, he noticed that Chet Fox was whispering in the ear of the man next the wall. The poker-player nodded, and at the same moment his glance met that of Dingwell.
I'll let you alone, like I promised Jeff I would. You Rutherfords have got no call to object to being starved, anyhow. Whad you do to Dave Dingwell in Chicito?" After all, she was only a girl in spite of her little feminine ferocities and her pride and her gameness. She had passed through a terrible experience, had come out of it to apparent safety and had been thrown back into despair.
"All I ask is that you don't cross my path again. Next time I'll let Jess Tighe have his way." "I didn't go into the park to spy on your people, Miss Rutherford. I went to " "I care nothing about why you came." The girl turned to Dingwell, her chin in the air. "Better let him rest every mile or two. I don't want him breaking down in our country after all the trouble I've taken."
You can go if you want to," murmured Dave with good-natured irony. "Said he'd shoot me in the back if I hit the trail any faster," Fox snorted to the girl. "He wouldn't dare," flamed Beulah Rutherford. Her sultry eyes attacked Dingwell. He smiled, not a whit disturbed. "You see how it is, Chet. Maybe I will; maybe I won't. Be a sport and you'll find out."
Dingwell got out his long hunting-knife, fell on his knees, and began to dig at the center of the spot where the campfire had been. The dirt flew. With his left hand he scooped it from the hole he was making. Presently the point of his knife struck metal. Three minutes later he unearthed a heavy gunnysack. Inside of it were a lot of smaller sacks bearing the seal of the Western Express Company.
Fate had played him a scurvy trick in making him a trembler, but he knew it was not in him to turn his back on Dingwell. No matter how much he might rebel and squirm he would have to come to time in the end. After a wretched afternoon he hunted up Ryan at his hotel. "When do you want me to start?" he asked sharply. The little cowpuncher was sitting in the lobby reading a newspaper.
He wanted to shoot was crazy to kill your friend. But he didn't. Beaudry had talked him out of it." "How?" "Bullied him out of it jeered at him and threatened him and man-called him, with that big gun shining in his eyes every minute of the time." Dingwell nodded slowly. He wanted to get the full flavor of this joyous episode that had occurred.
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