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Updated: June 24, 2025
Rod Norton, putting another man in his place on the ranch, had buried his father and then had asked of the county his election to the place made empty by his father's death. Though he was young, men believed in him. The election returns gave him his place by a crushing majority. "And he has done good work," concluded Engle thoughtfully.
"They were pulled off by the same man who stuck up Kemble of the Quigley mines. Inside of a week I'll get something done; I'll promise you that. But let me do it my way." Engle alone of the three drew a certain satisfaction from the interview. "He has promised something definite," he told them. "Did you ever know him to do that and fail to keep his word?
"He's had your goat ever since the meeting opened," grinned the Sharpshooter. "That's all right," said O'Connor. "That's a whole lot better than my buying a goat from him for a thousand dollars." This by way of reminding the Sharpshooter of something which he preferred to forget. Engle reddened. "Aw, what's the good of chewing the fat?" interrupted the fourth man briskly.
Engle having caught the look in the two women's eyes, broke off abruptly in what he was saying, and now sat studying his cigar with frowning eyes. "Man against man, and the whole county knows it, one employing whatever criminal's tools slip into his hands, the other fighting fair and in the open.
But, although he hasn't had the social advantages, perhaps, still he is a man of parts." Florrie sniffed and tossed her head. Virginia bit her lips and watched them. "Been smoking too many cigs, I guess, Sis," Elmer remarked apropos of the initial observation of Miss Engle which still rankled. "Got a regular cigarette fiend's cough. Gave 'em up. Hitting the pipe now."
Engle from a common friend in Richmond. "I don't want to appear to be riding too hard on your trail," he smiled at her. "But I was planning dropping in on the Engles myself this evening. They're friends of mine, you know." She laughed, and as they left the hotel, propounded a riddle for him to answer: Should Mr. Norton introduce her to Mrs.
Lucky I was right on hand, though." And he grew technical, spoke of blood pressures taken, of traumatism superinducing prolonged coma, of this and that which made no impression on the banker. "You mentioned two wounds," Engle reminded him. "The one made by the bullet and another. . . ." "By his head striking as he fell?
Rogers' laugh was hollow, mirthless. And again Deveny shot a glance at him. "But you didn't bother her Barbara?" questioned Rogers in a dry, light voice. "No," grinned Deveny; "that time hasn't come yet. It's coming soon. I told Lolly to keep an eye on her; I've got Engle and Barthman and Kelmer watching at the doors so Barbara can't light out for the Rancho Seco.
"Just the same," muttered O'Connor, "I'd feel a lot more comfortable if Curry wasn't in the race. That old boy is poison, that's what he is. The last couple of times " "Oh, shut up!" rasped Engle. "Elisha was the horse he trimmed us with Elisha! Get that through your head. This is Isaiah. There's as much difference in horses as there is in prophets.
John Engle rapidly came to assume the nature and proportions of a stubborn bulwark standing sturdily between Roderick Norton and the fires of criticism, which, springing from little, scattered flames were now a wide-spread blaze amply fed with the dry fuel of many fields.
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