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Updated: June 2, 2025
"This thing is going to fall under us if we don't do something," muttered Ward. "Duane's forgotten us, and those crazy idiots at the engines are too busy trying to keep from being washed," surmised Keith. "Look here," said Munro suddenly; "I'll brace against a chimney and hang on to the hose, and you can slide down it like a rope." "How about you?" demanded Ward crisply.
There were times when the wind which had arisen sent a hot, pattering breath down the willow aisles, and Duane heard it as an approaching army. This straining of Duane's faculties brought on a reaction which in itself was a respite. He saw the sun darkened by thick slow spreading clouds. A storm appeared to be coming. How slowly it moved! The air was like steam.
Only one reason presented itself to Duane's conjecturing, and it was that with him headed straight on that road his pursuers were satisfied not to force the running. He began to hope and look for a trail or a road turning off to right or left. There was none. A rough, mesquite-dotted and yucca-spired country extended away on either side.
For in Duane's work, from somewhere deep within, there radiated outward something of that internal glow which never entirely fades from the canvases of the old masters which survives mould and age, the opacity of varnish, and the well-intentioned maltreatment of unbaked curators.
"Take your troops and go, sir, and report to me when you have arrested your man." Then Duane went to the hospital, and out with the ambulance, hoping that the soldier might not be dead. But the wholesome irony of life reckons beyond our calculations; and the unreproachful, sunny face of his Sergeant evoked in Duane's memory many marches through long heat and cold, back in the rough, good times.
Duane's lips were dry with fear; he swallowed, controlled the rising anger that began to twitch at his throat, and went on in a low, quiet voice: "Is this man Moebus connected with any of these transactions in which you and and my father are interested?" "Yes." "Is Klawber?" "Max Moebus, Emanuel Klawber, James Skelton, and Amos Flack are interested. Is that what you want to know?"
Then he reached low at Duane's hip, felt his gun, and took it. Then he slapped the other hip, evidently in search of another weapon. That done, he backed away, wearing an expression of fiendish satisfaction that made Duane think he was only a common thief, a novice at this kind of game. His comrade stood in the door with a gun leveled at two other men, who stood there frightened, speechless.
While he was pondering the shadows quickly gathered and darkened. If he was to go back to camp he must set out at once. Still he lingered. And suddenly his wide-roving eye caught sight of two horsemen riding up the valley. The must have entered at a point below, round the huge abutment of rock, beyond Duane's range of sight. Their horses were tired and stopped at the stream for a long drink.
She and Naïda went away together; later Duane joined them in the library, saying that his father was asleep, holding fast to his wife's hand. Geraldine, her arm around Naïda's waist, had been looking at one of Duane's pictures the only one of his in the house merely a stretch of silvery marsh and a gray, wet sky beyond. "Father liked it," he said; "that's why it's here, Geraldine."
He neither looked nor listened, but boldly pushed the door and stepped inside. The big room was full of men, and every face pivoted toward him. Knell's pale face flashed into Duane's swift sight; then Boldt's, then Blossom Kane's, then Panhandle Smith's, then Fletcher's, then others that were familiar, and last that of Poggin. Though Duane had never seen Poggin or heard him described, he knew him.
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