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Updated: June 27, 2025
Each was in his ordinary attire. Their fists were up, and they eyed each other in a calm that had the elements of leonine cruelty in it. During this pause, the Easterner's mind, like a film, took lasting impressions of three men the iron-nerved master of the ceremony; the Swede, pale, motionless, terrible; and Johnnie, serene yet ferocious, brutish yet heroic.
The dry humour of this brought a twinkle into the Easterner's gray eyes. He took the hat from her outstretched gloved hand, but paused with it half raised to his close-cropped head. "If you'll permit me ... my name is Lennon Jack Lennon mining engineer." "Engineer is all right, but can you shoot?" queried the girl. "I have had pretty good luck with running deer. This is my first man."
And so she felt a little more at ease. "I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Chavis," she said. "Your friend Mr. Pickett too." She indicated Masten with a nod of her head toward him. "This is Mr. Willard Masten, a very dear friend of mine." The color in her face deepened with the words. Chavis had looked twice at Masten before Ruth spoke. He looked again now, meeting the Easterner's eyes.
"People don't seem to know about the National Forests," she said. "They think the forests are only places for lumber and mills." The ordinary Easterner's idea of New Mexico is of a cloudless, sun-scorched land where you can cook an egg by laying it on the sand any day in the year, winter or summer.
The two men faced each other, obedient to the harsh commands of Scully, whose face, in the subtly luminous gloom, could be seen set in the austere impersonal lines that are pictured on the countenances of the Roman veterans. The Easterner's teeth were chattering, and he was hopping up and down like a mechanical toy. The cowboy stood rock-like. The contestants had not stripped off any clothing.
Gretzinger walked to the wall, where he reached down his overcoat and put it on. "The ditch will go to weeds first," he said. "The offer's open until to-morrow night," said Pat. "You bloodsuckers can't put anything over on me," was the Easterner's departing declaration, as he opened the door. "I'm on to you, Carrigan. You're backing Bryant and will finish the ditch.
Chavis had been ready to sneer at Masten because of his garments they were duplicates of those he had worn before the ducking, and quite as immaculate but something in the Easterner's eyes kept the sneer back; his own eyes gleamed with a quick, comprehensive fire, and he smiled. In the buckboard, fresh from that civilization which Chavis was ready to scorn, he had recognized a kindred spirit.
He became an ardent and bigoted Westerner, with a scorn for the East so profound that no Easterner's scorn for the West hath ever by any chance equalled it. Prospecting with the simple outfit of old became his relaxation, his sport, and, as he aged, his hobby. It was said that he had exalted prospecting to the dignity of an art, and no longer hunted gold as a pot-hunter.
There was heard the cushioned sound of blows, and of a curse squeezing out from between the tight teeth of one. As for the spectators, the Easterner's pent-up breath exploded from him with a pop of relief, absolute relief from the tension of the preliminaries. The cowboy bounded into the air with a yowl.
"Wouldn't that choke you?" demanded Carson, the cow foreman, a thin, awkward little man, gray in the service of "real men." "Taking orders off'n a fool Easterner's bad enough. But old man or young, Bud?" "Just a kid," was Lee's further dampening news. And as he nonchalantly buttered his hotcakes he added carelessly: "Something of a scrapper, though. Just put two thirty-two calibers into Trevors."
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