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Updated: June 21, 2025
Riding through a wide clearing in the cottonwood, he spoke a thought that had troubled him not a little since he had entered Stafford's employ. "Why," he said, as he rode along, sitting carelessly in the saddle, "he's wantin' to make a gunfighter out of me. But I reckon I ain't goin' to shoot no man unless I'm pretty sure he's gunnin' for me." His lips curled ironically.
"Back at Dry Bottom," said Ferguson presently, "there was a man shootin' at a can when I struck town. He put five bullets through the can. Was that your range boss?" Stafford smiled. "That was Leviatt my range boss," he returned. "We went over to Dry Bottom to get a gunfighter. We wanted a man who could shoot plum quick. He'd have to be quick, for Radford's lightnin' with a six.
A great deal of enthusiasm faded from Cartwright's face. "How come?" he asked briefly. "Nothing much. But they say this Sinclair is quite a gunfighter, my friend. Up in his home town they scare the babies by talking about Sinclair." "H'm," murmured Cartwright. "He can't win always, and maybe I'll be the lucky man." But he went out of the store with his head thoughtfully inclined.
"Ridin' with her sure makes a man open his eyes considerable." Now he ignored Leviatt, speaking to Stafford. "When I was in here one day, talkin' to you," he said quietly, "you told me about you an' Leviatt goin' to Dry Bottom to hire a gunfighter. I reckon you told that right?" "I sure did," returned Stafford. Ferguson took another pull at his cigarette blowing the smoke slowly skyward.
For naturally enough he did not recognize the transformed Donnegan, and the name he had never heard before. "A gunfighter, that's what he is!" "Why, Jack, sometimes they call you the same thing; say that you hunt for trouble now and then!" "Do they say that?" asked the young chap quickly, flushing with vanity. "Oh, I aim to take care of myself.
When I seen the red on her side " "Can't be more than a chance prick." "I know," said Ronicky, "but I didn't stop to think." "And I should of give you fair warning before I went for the gat." "Look here," said Ronicky, "you talk like a straight sort of a gent to me." "And you thought I was a cross between a hoss thief and a gunfighter?" "I dunno what I thought, except that I wanted the mare back.
Up thar in a bare spot we run plump into Queen sittin' against a tree, right out in the open. Queerest sight y'u ever seen! The damn gunfighter had set down to wait for Isbel, who was trailin' him, as we suspected -an' he died thar. He wasn't cold when we found him.... Somers was quick to see a trick.
Many a time he wondered what the little gunfighter was doing, and what trail he was riding now. A dangerous trail, he doubted not, and a lawless trail, he greatly feared. But someday he might be able to find the terrible little man and bring him back to a truer place in society.
Such a man would be terrible on the trail tireless, certainly. Besides there was the horror of flight, almost more awful than the immediate fear of death. Once he turned his back to flee from Riley Sinclair, the gunfighter would become a nightmare that would haunt him the rest of his life.
He had little idea that a friend was responding to his call, but being unarmed he could do no more than crouch against the wall of the cliff while he scanned the opening above him. Presently there appeared in the opening the head of a Texan, Goat Neale, whom Wade recognized as a member of Moran's crew and a man of some note as a gunfighter. "How," drawled the Texan, by way of greeting.
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