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Updated: June 9, 2025
"There's nothing at present that our syndicate could do?" "There'll be plenty of chances to use ready money," McCoppet assured him, rising. "You're here on the ground. Keep your shirt on and leave the shuffling to me." Bostwick, too, arose. "How long will young Kent be away?" "As long as I can keep him busy out South." "What is he doing out South?" "Locating a second Goldite," said the gambler.
Beyond them the eternal march of the stars proceeded in the majesty of space, with billions of years in which to fulfil the cosmic cycle of existence. In the night, far out to the northward, a storm descended like a cataclysm. Torrential rains were poured upon the hills from a cloudburst exceptionally savage. Only the scattered outposts, as it were, of the storm were blown as far as Goldite.
A blind man with a nose for glass could have smelled out the trail unerringly across that desert stretch. Karrish was the nearest town for a very great distance around. Over the road innumerable caravans were passing. Everything was rushing to Goldite. There were horsemen, hurried persons on foot, men in carriages and autos, twenty-horse freight teams, and men on tiny burros.
It seemed as if the stream of Oriental invective being poured through the walls of the building might have withered almost anything extant. But Goldite whisky had failed on his besiegers earlier and their vitals were proof against attack. Van arrived among them abruptly. "What's all this pillow-fight about?" he demanded in a voice that all could hear.
"But I haven't any horse," she protested, failing for a moment to grasp his meaning. "How could I have a horse in Goldite?" "You couldn't help having him that's all any more than you can help having me." The light in his eyes was far too magnetic for her own brown glance to escape. She hardly knew what she was saying, or what she was thinking.
The sun was rapidly nearing the rim of the mountains, as if to escape pursuit of a monstrous bank of clouds. Van spurred his chestnut to a gallop, and the horses bearing the women responded with no further need of urging. From Karrish to Goldite by the road was twenty-seven miles. There were fifteen mile of bottles by the way all of them empty.
"Up in the seat there, Searle," he repeated, "and drive back at moderate speed." Bostwick's surrender was complete. He climbed to the driver's position, still silently, and started the car in an automatic way that knew no thought of resistance. At the rear of his head Van held the gun, and back towards Goldite they rolled.
For her own sake, not for his, he must hasten her onward to Goldite, by way of the "Laughing Water" claim. He walked off eastward where a natural furrow made a deep depression in the valley. His pony followed, the lasso dragging in the sand. Once over at the furrow edge, the man took out his pistol and fired it off in the air. Beth was duly aroused.
"Old New York," he repeated, at the end of his reverie, and meeting once more the steady brown eyes of the girl with whom the fates had thrown him, he fetched up promptly with the present. "How long has your brother been out here in Goldite?" "About a month," she answered. "He's been in the West for nearly a year, and wrote Mr. Bostwick to come." "Mr.
But of all the men in Goldite he was doubtless best equipped with knowledge concerning Bostwick's Eastern standing. He knew that Searle had never had the slightest Government authority to order the survey made and therein lay the crux of all the matter. It was all he had to go upon, but he felt it was almost enough.
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