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Updated: May 25, 2025
It was in the dusk of Tuesday evening that Jake Dolan's dog came into the yard where the captives were, and Jake disowned him, and joined the men who stoned the faithful creature out to the main road. But the prisoners knew that their rescuers would follow the dog, so at supper the three men from the Ridge sat together on a bench at the table while Mrs.
Only within the past few months had he begun to come into his own, a heritage of health and happiness. Dud Hollister came to him out of Dolan's saloon. "Say, fellow, where's my gun?" he asked. Bob looked up. "He took it." "Do I lose my six-shooter?" "I'll fix it with you when I get the money to buy one."
The señora wants to walk over to Dolan's place. I am to stay with the sick American." He exploded with low, fierce energy. "A thousand curses take the gringo! Why should you nurse him? Is he not an enemy to the señorita to all in the valley who have bought from her or her father or her grandfather? Is he not here to throw us out a thief, a spy, a snake in the grass?" "No, he is not.
At four o'clock, after the Sunday council, John and Bob drove out of Sheriff Jake Dolan's stable with his best two-seated buggy, and told him they would be back from Minneola at midnight or thereabout after taking Jane Mason home, and the two boys drove down Main Street with the girls, waving to every one with their hats, while the girls waved their parasols, and the town smiled; for though all the world loves a lover, in Sycamore Ridge it has been the custom, since the days when Philemon Ward first took Miss Lucy out to drive, for all the town to jeer at lovers as they pass down street in buggies and carriages!
The two friends seated themselves one on his either hand. Racey laughed gently. "Doc Coffin and Honey looked kind of surprised to see you with us," he remarked with enjoyment, "didn't they, Peaches?" "I didn't notice," lied Peaches. "It don't matter," nodded Racey. "See that pile of dirt over against the back wall of Dolan's warehouse, Peaches?" "I ain't blind."
One went into Dolan's. He was a good-looking young fellow about twenty. A second wandered into the hotel saloon. He was not good-looking and was twice twenty. The third strolled past the bank, glanced in, turned, and walked past it a second time. He straddled, with jingling spurs, into the big store. Tom Platt nodded casually to him. "Anything I can do for you, Houck?" "I reckon," Houck grunted.
My little girl," said he, drawing Ellen to him, "do you know the meaning of those sweet things of which little John Dolan's mind was so full?" Ellen did not speak. "Do you know what it is to be a sinner? and what it is to be a forgiven child of God?" "I believe I do, Sir," Ellen said. He kissed her forehand and blessed her; and then said, "Let us pray."
He remembered the way she had looked at him, how she had laughed when he narrated Mickey Dolan's mistake in staking the fraction on Skookum Gulch. Her laughter had been lightly joyous, while at the same time it had lacked its oldtime robustness. Not that she had been grave or subdued. On the contrary, she had been so patently content, so filled with peace. She had fooled him, fool that he was.
The slap of footsteps on a board walk could be plainly heard. A voice lifted itself in question into the night. The door of Dolan's opened and let out a fan-shaped shaft of light. The figures of men could be seen as they surged across the lit space into the darkness. June had spoken the truth. He must hurry if he was to escape. To shoot again now would be to advertise the spot where he was.
They were young fellows most of them, just out of their boyhood, keen to spend their money and have a good time when off duty. Always they made straight for Dolan's or the Bear Cat House. First they downed a drink or two, then they washed off the dust of travel. This done, each followed his own inclination. He gambled, drank, or frolicked around, according to the desire of the moment.
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