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Updated: May 31, 2025
He caught his sister in his arms and held her as if he never intended to let the sobbing girl go. His own voice was not at all steady. "Boots Boots . . . Honey-bug . . . Where you-all been?" he asked, choking up suddenly. Pat Ryan Evens an Old Score Dingwell, the coffee-pot in one hand and a tin cup in the other, hailed his partner cheerfully.
"I've seen them as would have grumbled a heap at digging up that sack, and then loaning me their horse to carry it whilst they walked. But you're that cheerful. My own brother wouldn't have been so kind." Dingwell grunted sulkily. He may have felt cheerful, but he did not look it. The pudgy round body of Fox shook with silent laughter. "Kind is the word, Dave.
Not many seconds could have passed before he opened his eyes again. But what he saw puzzled him. Meldrum was writhing on the ground and cursing. His left hand nursed the right, which moved up and down frantically as if to escape from pain. Toward the house walked Dingwell and by his side Beulah Rutherford. Dave was ejecting a shell from the rifle he carried.
It was worth something to have tamed so debonair a dare-devil as Dingwell had the reputation of being. He had the fellow so meek that he would eat out of his hand. Dave Caches a Gunnysack Fox rode about ten yards behind his prisoner, who plodded without spirit up the creek trail that led from the basin. "You're certainly an accommodating fellow, Dave," he jeered.
"I ate it," grinned Dingwell confidentially. "The boys are getting impatient, Dave. They don't like the way you butted in." "That's all right. You're responsible for my safety, Hal. I'll let you do the worrying." "Don't fool yourself. We can't keep you here forever. We can't let you go without an agreement. "Either my friends will rescue me, or else I'll escape." "Forget it.
He's a world-beater, that young fellow is doesn't know what fear is," concluded the buyer sagely. "You don't say!" murmured Mr. Dingwell. "Sure as you're a foot high. While I was trying to climb up the side of a railroad car to get out of range, that young guy was figuring it all out.
Into the white face of his victim Charlton puffed the smoke of his cigar. "If you ain't too busy going fishing maybe you could sell me a windmill to-day. How about that, Mr. Cornell-I-Yell?" "Where's yore dry nurse Dingwell?" broke in the ex-convict bitterly. "Thought he tagged you everywhere. Tell the son-of-a-gun for me that next time we meet I'll curl his hair right." Roy said nothing.
While they were eating breakfast, a man rode up and dismounted. A long, fresh zigzag scar stretched across his forehead. It was as plain to be seen as the scowl which drew his heavy eyebrows together. "'Lo, Charlton. Come to boss this round-up for us?" asked Dingwell cheerily. The young man nodded sulkily. "Hal sent me. The boys weren't with him."
They had walked little and galloped much. Not once had they fallen into the easy Spanish jog-trot used so much in the casual travel of the South-west. The spur of some compelling motive had driven this party at top speed. Since Dingwell knew the reason for such haste he rode warily. His alert caution suggested the panther.
If he had been unable to control his fear, at least he had not let it master him. He had found out for Ryan where Dingwell was held prisoner. It had been his intention to leave the park as soon as he knew this, report the facts to the friends of Dave, and let them devise a way of escape. He had done his full share. But he could not follow this course now. The need of the cattleman was urgent.
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