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Updated: May 31, 2025
The short man was bringing up the rear along the narrow trail-ribbon. He turned in the saddle to look back, a hand on his horse's rump. Perhaps he did this because of the power of suggestion. Several times Doble had already swung his head to scan with a searching gaze the other side of the valley. Mackerel clouds were floating near the horizon in a sky of blue.
Even the great Budd Doble, whom he personally knew, had said more than once, and in the presence of unimpeachable witnesses, that in some ways he, Budd Doble, knew less about a horse than Cousin Bill J. did.
It was quite possible he might be killed by Doble, but he had a conviction that the outlaw had come to the end of the passage. He was going to do justice on the man once for all. He regarded this as a certainty. Joyce fainted for the first time in her life. When she recovered consciousness Doble was splashing water in her face.
Doble squirmed away like a cat, but before he could turn to use his revolver Bob was on him again. The puncher caught his right arm, in time and in no more than time. The deflected bullet pinged through a looking-glass on a dresser near the foot of the bed. "Go to it, son! Grab the gun and bust his haid wide open!" an excited voice encouraged Hart.
"Well," said Joe, mournfully, "thar's Widder Higsby and darter; the four Stubbs gals; in course Polly Doble will be on hand with that feller that's clerking over at the Head for Jones, and Jones's wife. Then thar's French Pete, and Whisky Ben, and that chap that shot Archer, I disremember his name, and the barber what's that little mulatto's name that 'ar Kanaka?
I'll fight you and him both, with or without guns. Any time. Any place." Doble backed away till his figure grew vague in the darkness. Came the crack of a revolver. A bullet tore a splinter from the wall of the shack in front of which Dave was standing. A jeering laugh floated to the two men, carried on the light night breeze. Bob whipped out his revolver, but he did not fire.
"Two fellows comin' hell-for-leather across the valley," he said in a voice that expressed his fears. The cattleman took the glasses and looked. "Shorty's found a friend. Dug Doble likely. They're carryin' rifles. We'll have trouble. They'll see we stopped at the haid of the pass," he said quietly. Much shaken already, the oil prospector collapsed at the prospect before him.
That friend whom death from us has torn, We did not think so soon to part; An anxious care now sinks the thorn Still deeper in our bleeding heart. This beautiful creation loses nothing by repetition. On the contrary, the oftener one sees it in the LEDGER, the more grand and awe-inspiring it seems. With one more extract I will close: Doble.
Unless he'll clear that up, I vote to finish the job." "Maybe we'd better," agreed the cattleman. "I'll tie the rope to the trunk of the tree and you lead the horse from under him, Dave." Miller broke down. He groveled. "I'll tell. I'll tell all I know. Dug Doble and Shorty held up the stage. I don' know who killed the driver. They didn't say when they come back."
The fugitive had to use his quirt to get there in time. The steepness of the road made heavy going. As he neared the summit the grade grew worse. The bronco labored heavily in its stride as its feet reached for the road ahead. But here Dave had the advantage. Doble was a much heavier man than he, and his mount took the shoulder of the ridge slower.
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