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Updated: June 22, 2025
"Somebody coming." The sheriff listened for a moment. "Two horses," he announced. "May be Jack Pugh." Nevertheless, the old frontiersman shifted his position so that his gun lay ready to his hand. A moment later two shadowy horsemen appeared, resolving themselves, as they approached, into Farwell and old Simon. "Hello, the camp!" cried the former. "That you, Dunne?" "Yes.
The Cody biplane, with its enormous size rendering it a prominent feature of the show, was exhibited. Its designer anticipated later engines by expressing his desire for a motor of 150 horse-power, which in his opinion was necessary to get the best results from the machine. The then famous Dunne monoplane was exhibited at this show, its planes being V-shaped in plan, with apex leading.
He thought of the questions he would have to answer. He would be asked why he hadn't done this. It would be no answer to point out that he had done that. People were always so cursed wise after the event! And then he remembered Casey Dunne's words. Dunne had said that he was not getting enough water, had asked for more, had practically given him warning.
"My offer was made in good faith, but I withdraw it. Keep your land." "And the devil do me good with it, I suppose!" said Casey Dunne, picking up his hat and rising. "Very well, Mr. York. I know now where you stand. And here's where we stand: Not one of us will sell an acre or a foot. We are going to keep our land, and we are going to keep our water somehow."
He heaved a sigh, stood still, and turned a mildly inquiring, backward eye on his rider. It was as if he had said: "What! Still there? You surprise me!" Sheila McCrae laughed. "He's passing it off as a joke, Casey." "He nearly got me, the old sinner," said Dunne. "Now he'll be good till next time. You miserable, imitation bad horse, some day I'll manhandle you."
"But Mr. Dunne isn't a broker," said Mrs. Wade. "He's a farmer." "A a farmer!" Clyde repeated, in much the same tone she would have used if her hostess had informed her that she was to be paired with a Zulu. Mrs. Wade laughed. "Not the 'Old Homestead' kind, dear. It's the fault of my Eastern bringing up.
He seemed to have ideas and opinions formed by his own thought, not mere repetitions of reviews or newspaper comment. As she glanced at his profile from time to time she became aware of an odd familiarity. He resembled some one she had seen before, but the identity eluded her. Their conversation gradually took a more personal form. Dunne told a story, and told it well.
He was of the opinion that the McCraes, father and son, had no hand in the dynamiting; though he conceded that they could make an excellent guess at the perpetrators. But Farwell thought he could do that himself; he fixed the responsibility on Casey Dunne. The McCraes did not mention the dam, but Farwell had no hesitation in broaching the subject.
The other was dark, quick, restless, shooting odd, darting glances from a pair of sinister black eyes. "Is your name Dunne?" asked the first roughly. "Dunne?" queried McHale, as if the name were strange to him. "Did you say Dunne, or Doane?" "I said Dunne." "Oh," McHale responded. "Lemme think. No, I guess not. I never used that name that I remember of. No, partner, my name ain't Dunne."
But around the waist of each was a holster-weighted belt, and across each saddle was slanted a rifle. Because of these warlike manifestations Clyde slept no more that night. As the night air vibrated with the first explosion Casey Dunne and McHale leaped from their beds, and rushed for the door, opened it, and stood listening. There they heard another and another.
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