Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 2, 2025
Besides, I'm on to your trail, young man" tapping the bundle under his arm "your eye happened to catch that superscription; no doubt your father has talked to you; and you came to a rather embarrassing conclusion." Duane's serious face fell: "My father and I have not talked on that subject, Guy. Are you going up to see him now?"
"My horses might betray you," added Duane. "I'll hide them in a place where there's water an' grass. Nobody goes to it. Come now, let me help you indoors." Duane's last fading sensations of that hard day were the strange feel of a bed, a relief at the removal of his heavy boots, and of Jennie's soft, cool hands on his hot face.
He killed his sweetheart's father, got run out of Staceytown, took to stealin' hosses. An' next he's here with Bland. Another boy gone wrong, an' now shore a hard nut." Euchre went on calling Duane's attention to other men, just as he happened to glance over them. Any one of them would have been a marked man in a respectable crowd.
And that's no idle jest; witness my nose and Duane's in days gone by." The girl smiled. As they turned homeward she slung her rifle, passed her right arm through Kathleen's, and dropped her left on her brother's shoulder. She was very tired, and hopeful that she might sleep. And tired, hopeful, thinking of her lover, she passed through the woods, leaning on those who were nearest and most dear.
He passed a few scattered ranch-houses where horses whistled from corrals, and men curiously watched him fly past. He saw one rancher running, and he felt intuitively that this fellow was going to join in the chase. Duane's steed pounded on, not noticeably slower, but with a lack of former smoothness, with a strained, convulsive, jerking stride which showed he was almost done.
From all outside appearances Fairdale was no different from other frontier towns, and Duane's expectations were scarcely realized. As the afternoon was waning he halted at a little inn. A boy took charge of his horse. Duane questioned the lad about Fairdale and gradually drew to the subject most in mind. "Colonel Longstreth has a big outfit, eh?" "Reckon he has," replied the lad.
He slowed up and was making the turn, which was down-hill between high banks of yellow clay, when his mettlesome horse heard something to frighten him or shied at something and bolted. The few bounds he took before Duane's iron arm checked him were enough to reach the curve.
Duane inferred just that from the interrupted remark. There was something wrong about the Mayor of Fairdale. Duane felt it. And he felt also, if there was a crooked and dangerous man, it was this Floyd Lawson. The innkeeper Laramie would be worth cultivating. And last in Duane's thoughts that night was Miss Longstreth.
One was a tall, dark, striking-looking man, and the other two were ladies, wearing long gray ulsters and veils. Duane heard the proprietor of the inn address the man as Colonel Longstreth, and as the party entered the inn Duane's quick ears caught a few words which acquainted him with the fact that Longstreth was the Mayor of Fairdale.
For himself he could have waited no longer. But for her! That gun was still held dangerously upward close to her. Duane watched only that. Then a bellow made him jerk his head. Colonel Longstreth stood in the doorway in a magnificent rage. He had no weapon. Strange how he showed no fear! He bellowed something again. Duane's shifting glance caught the robber's sudden movement.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking