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Updated: May 14, 2025
He saw Corliss and Nell Loring standing close together, evidently discussing something of more than usual import, for at that moment John Corliss had raised his broad Stetson as though bidding farewell to the girl, but she had caught his arm as he turned and was clinging to him. Her attitude was that of one supplicating, coaxing, imploring. Fadeaway, with a vicious twist to his mouth, spat.
The cowboy, while posing as friend and adviser, was in reality working out a subtle plan of his own, a plan of which Corliss had not the slightest inkling. "And the Concho's makin' good," said Fadeaway, helping himself to a drink. He shoved the bottle toward Corliss. "Take a little 'Forget-it, Billy. That's her! Here's to what's yours!" They drank together.
There had been but little noise an occasional frightened bleat, a drumming of hoofs on the mesa, and they were swept from sight. Fadeaway reined around and took a direct line for the nearest timber. Halfway across the open he saw the Mexican boy running toward him. He leaned forward in the saddle and hung his spurs in his pony's sides.
The herder turned and ran. Fadeaway laughed and swung away at a lope. When he arrived at the Concho he unsaddled, turned his pony into the corral, and called to Chance. He was at the water-trough washing the dog's muzzle when John Corliss appeared. Fadeaway straightened up. He knew what was coming and knew that he deserved it.
He let his quirt slip butt-first through his hand and grasped the lash. Fadeaway's hand slipped to his holster. Before he could pull his gun, Corliss swung the quirt. The blow caught Fadeaway just below the brim of his hat. He wavered and grabbed at the saddle-horn. As Corliss again swung his quirt, the cowboy jerked out his gun and brought it down on the rancher's head.
Chance knows better than to tackle sheep unless he's put up to it. You needn't explain. Bud will give you your time." Then Corliss turned to Shoop who had just ridden in. "Chain that dog up and keep him chained up! And give Fadeaway his time, right up to the minute!" Shoop dropped easily from the saddle, led his horse toward the corral, and whistled a sprightly ditty as he unsaddled him.
Do you think I'd hand you me gun without sayin' a word? And if you think I didn't shoot Fadeaway, what in hell you pinchin' me for? Ain't a guy got a right to live?" "Yes. Fadeaway had a right to live." "Well, I sure never wanted to see him cross over. That's the way with you cops. If a fella is a Bo, he gets pinched, anyhow.
The cowboy rolled a cigarette, tilted back his chair, and puffed thoughtfully. "Yes, she's makin' good. Why, Bud is gettin' a hundred and twenty-five, now. Old Hi Wingle's drawin' down eighty Jack's payin' the best wages in this country. Must of cleaned up four or five thousand last year. And here you're settin', broke." "Well, you needn't rub it in," said Corliss, frowning. Fadeaway grinned.
Fadeaway greeted him with loud, counterfeit heartiness, and they drank together. Their talk centered on the Concho. Gradually they drew away from the group at the bar. Finally Corliss mentioned his brother. Fadeaway at once became taciturn. Corliss noticed this and questioned the puncher. "Had a row with Jack?" he asked. "Between you and me, I did. He fired me, couple of days ago." "Full?" "Nope.
"The cattle business and the sheep business looks like they was goin' into partnership," he muttered. "Leave it to a woman to fool a man every time. And him pertendin' to be all for the long-horns!" He saw the girl turn from Corliss, bury her face in her arms, and lean against the tree beneath which they were standing. Fadeaway grinned.
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