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Updated: May 14, 2025
Shoop turned the body over. "Got it from in front," he said, which was obvious to their experienced eyes. "And it took a fast gun to get him," asserted Loring. The men were silent, each visualizing his own theory of the fight on the trail and the killing of Fadeaway. "Jack was layin' a long way from here," said Wingle. "When you found him," commented Loring.
I give you all he left with me." "By God, that's the limit!" exclaimed Corliss. "I guess it is, Billy. Have a cigar?" Corliss flung out of the office and tramped across to the saloon. He called for whiskey and, seating himself at one of the tables, drank steadily. Fadeaway wasn't such a fool, after all. But robbery! Was it robbery?
And Chance became the pet and the pride of the outfit. Riders from distant ranches would stray over to the lean-to and look at him, commenting on his size and elaborating on the fact that it usually took two of the best dogs ever whelped to pull down a timber-wolf. Even Fadeaway, now riding for the Blue, became enthusiastic and boasted of his former friendship with Chance.
The cowboy turned and saw a herder running toward him. He reined around and sat waiting grimly. When the herder was within speaking distance. Fadeaway's hand dropped to his hip and the herder stopped. He gesticulated and spoke rapidly in Spanish. Fadeaway answered, but in a kind of Spanish not taught in schools or heard in indoor conversation. The herder pressed forward. "Why, how! Fernando.
The girl turned to her father. He raised his arm and pointed toward the road. "You git!" he said. She reached up and patted his grizzled cheek. Then she clung to him, sobbing. The afternoon following the day of his discharge from the Concho, Fadeaway rode into Antelope, tied his pony to the hitching-rail in front of "The Last Chance," and entered the saloon. Several men loafed at the bar.
At his announcement, a great hubbub arose on all sides. "Tubbs! is he a baseball pitcher?" "I didn't know he knew a thing about baseball." "That dude launching a fadeaway? That gets me!" "Where did he learn to pitch?" "Who put him on the team?" "Say, Tubbs, explain this, won't you?" This last remark came from four students in unison. "You let me out of this!" cried the dudish student in despair.
Presently came the trample of frightened sheep a shrill bleating, and then silence. Fadeaway loped out into the open. The sheep were running in all directions. He whistled the dog to him. Chance's muzzle dripped red. The dog slunk round behind the horse, knowing that he had done wrong, despite the fact that he had been set upon the sheep. From the edge of the timber some one shouted.
Corliss backed against the wall, trembling and white. "Is he did you ?" Fadeaway grinned. "No, just chloroformed him. Get a move, Bill. No tellin' who'll come moseyin' along. Got the stuff?" Corliss nodded. Fadeaway blew out the light. "Come on, Bill. She worked slick." "But he knows me," said Corliss. "He'll squeal." "And I reckon Jack'll believe him. Why, it's easy, Bill.
Fadeaway nodded to the puncher who had spoken. "And ole man Loring's just run in twenty thousand head from New Mex.," continued the puncher. "Wonder how Corliss likes that?" "Don' know and dam' 'f I care. If a guy can't have a little sport without gettin' fired for it, why, that guy don't work for the Concho.
No use showin' your hand so early in the game." And Shoop laughed. "Well, she's full six aces," said Fadeaway, touching his holster significantly. "And Jack throws the fastest gun on the Concho," said Shoop, his genial smile gone; his face flushed. "I been your friend, if I do say it, Fade. But don't you go away with any little ole idea that I ain't workin' for Jack Corliss." "What's that to me?
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