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His father having been killed in a coining affair, Mandrin swore to revenge him. He deserted from the army accordingly, and got together a gang of contrebandiers, at the head of which his career in Savoy and Dauphine almost resembles that of one of the famous guerilla chieftains described in Hardman's Peninsular Scenes and Sketches.
Old deal with Hardman that stood for years. Mebbe you never knowed about it. There are ranchers around here who swear Hardman drove sharp deals. Wal, your father sold the homestead an' left. Reckon it's been over a year." "Where'd they go?" "Your pa never told me where, but I heerd afterward that he hit Hardman's trail an' went to western New Mexico. Marco is the name of the place.
"It isn't a very gay outlook," Bucky admitted cheerfully to his companion, "but I expect we can pull it off somehow. If these Mexican officials weren't slower than molasses in January it might have been better to wait and have him released by process of law on account of Hardman's confession. But it would take them two or three years to come to a decision.
But the hell of it is, Hardman's outfit helped make the drive." "No!" "You bet they did. Thet's what galls me. Either they was layin' fer the day or just happened to ride up on us, an' figgered it out. Mebbe thet's where Mac New comes in." "Blink, I don't believe he's double-crossed us," declared Pan stoutly. "Wal, he's an outlaw." "No difference. I just don't believe it.
It's such a queer mixed-up business, this locating, working, and selling claims. I want none of it." "Hardman's men, either at his instigation or Dick's, deliberately ran two of my men out of their claims. They'll tell you so." "I'm astonished. I certainly am astonished," replied Wiggate, and he looked it. "Marco is the hardest town I ever rode into," declared Pan.
Snatching a blanket off the bed he threw it round her, wrapped it tight, and lifted her in his arms. "Blink, go ahead," he whispered, as he went into the hall. "Hurry! Shoot out the lights! Go through the dance hall!" The cowboy seemed galvanized into action. He leaped over Hardman's body, huddled and lax, and down the hall, pulling his guns. Pan edged round the body on the floor.
"What's the difference? Hellsfire! Whisky! Let's get a drink. It's whisky I want." "Shore. I told you thet a while back. Come on, pard. It's red-eye fer us!" They crossed to the corner saloon, a low dive kept by a Chinaman and frequented by Mexicans and Indians. These poured out pellmell as the cowboys jangled up to the bar. Jard Hardman's outfit coming to town had prepared the way for this.
Mac New's revelation was what Pan would have expected of such a character. Bad as he was, he seemed a white man compared with this underhanded greedy Hardman. Even granting Hardman's gradual degeneration, Pan could not bring himself to believe the man would attempt any open crooked deal. Still this attempt to bribe Mac New had a dubious look. Pan did not like it.
It was, however, observed that before she returned, the little son was sent away to continue his education in a foreign seminary. Privy to all these arrangements, and in fact the chief mover in them, was Hardman's attorney.
"We build a corral round a water hole. Make a wide gate we can shut quick. Then we lay out on moonlight nights waitin' for 'em to come in to drink. We've done purty darn good at it, too." "That's fun, but it's a two-bit way to catch wild horses," rejoined Pan. "Wal, they're all doin' it thet way. Hardman's outfit, an' a couple more besides us.
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