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Updated: June 10, 2025
Sothern ministered to him day and night, letting no one in, having his own meals sent here, sitting by the bunk or at the doorstep, smoking. When a passer-by asked, "How's he gettin' along?" Sothern's answer was always the same: "Slowly." Drennen had been through much privation and hardship before his discovery, severe bodily punishment and fatigue thereafter.
"For I've been after that man for more than seventeen months, the man who has cause to hate John Harper Drennen like poison, the man who'd like to entangle both the father and son in the mesh of the law. It's the man I'm going to get at the end of this trail, a man calling himself Sefton.
John Harper Drennen was a great man; the boy made of him an infallible hero who should have been a demigod in face of the crisis. And when that crisis came his demigod fled before it, routed by the vengeance seeking him. Young Drennen had struck a man in the face for breaking the news to him and had felt a virtuous glow as he called the man "Liar!"
Andrew McCall as Local Agent for the Northwestern, had been the purchasing of his claim from David Drennen at the latter's figure, namely one hundred thousand dollars in cash, and an agreement of a royalty upon the mine's output. Despite Drennen's impatience to be riding trail again it was a week before the deal was consummated.
It came to rest bearing upon Garcia's breast. "Turn your back!" commanded Drennen sharply. He came well into the room, setting his own back to the wall so that, should Sefton and Lemarc come, he should be ready for them. "Do you hear me?" for Garcia had not stirred. "By God, I'll kill you . . ." Garcia shrugged, and shrugging obeyed the command which he was in no position to disobey.
Knowing that the animal might wander back along the trail and cause no little delay in the morning, Drennen slipped on his boots and went to tie him. The horse, seeing where the man could not, drew back toward the cliffs. Drennen, led by the noise of breaking underbrush, at last was enabled to make out distinctly the looming form in a little clearing.
But he came back, again baffled, again hurrying with the certainty upon him that Max, too, was hurrying. The sun was three hours high when Drennen found what he sought. With the keen joy at the discovery there came deep wonder. It was the approach to the lake; but the wonder arose from the unexpected nature of the path itself.
"What horses can climb these cliffs?" "Don't answer his questions!" commanded Ygerne. "Silence is as good as the lies I'd get," retorted Drennen. He closed the heavy panelled door behind turn, dropping into place an iron bolt which fastened staple and hasp. There was one other door at the far end of the long room; he moved toward it, at all times watching Garcia and Ygerne.
He had had Marquette's estimate and Joe's . . . now he sought to form his own. . . . There was a hard smile upon Sothern's face as Drennen passed on, a smile not without a strange sort of satisfaction, flashing a quick light into the eyes. "By God, I like him!" he burst out softly. "So you're David Drennen, are you? Well, my boy, the hounds of hell are after you . . . that's in your face.
She had nor understood the words for they were Spanish. They had meant, "Now am I resigned to my exile!" For a week Dave Drennen lay upon the bunk in the one room dugout which had been home for him during the winter. Stubborn and sullen and silent at first, snarling his anger as sufficient strength came back into him, he refused the aid which the Settlement, now keenly solicitous, offered.
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