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Updated: June 15, 2025
Madeline grasped his arm, held on, and peered fearfully from behind his broad shoulder. "You, Hawe! You, Sneed!" called Monty, in that same wild voice. "Don't you move a finger or an eyelash!" Madeline's faculties nerved to keen, thrilling divination. She grasped the relation between Monty's terrible cry and the strange hunched posture he had assumed.
As he fell a dagger glittered in the sunlight and rolled clinking over the stones. The man went down hard and did not move. With the same abrupt violence, and a manner of contempt, Stewart threw Hawe off the porch, then Don Carlos, who, being less supple, fell heavily. Then the mob backed before Stewart's rush until all were down in the courtyard.
"Senor Gene they Don Carlos vaqueros they quarrel over me. I only dance a leetle, smile a leetle, and they quarrel. I beg they be good watch out for Sheriff Hawe... and now Sheriff Hawe put me in jail. I so frighten; he try make leetle love to Bonita once, and now he hate me like he hate Senor Gene." "Pat Hawe won't put you in jail. Take my horse and hit the Peloncillo trail.
You heerd all about Miss Hammond's cowboy outfit stoppin' drinkin' an' cussin' an' packin' guns. They've took on religion an' decent livin', an' sure they'll be easy to hobble an' drive to jail. Hawe, listen. There was a good an' noble an be-ootiful woman come out of the East somewheres, an' she brought a lot of sunshine an' happiness an' new idees into the tough lives of cowboys.
Them rocks were rollin' all right, only it was the weatherin' of the cliffs. "An' there under the crags was a gold pocket. "Then I was worse than locoed. I went gold-crazy. I worked like seventeen burros. Bill, I dug a lot of goldbearin' quartz. Bonita watched the trails for me, brought me water. That was how she come to get caught by Pat Hawe an' his guerrillas. Sure!
From his distorted lips issued that which was combined roar and bellow and Indian war-whoop, and, more than all, a horrible warning cry. He resembled a hunchback about to make the leap of a demon. He was quivering, vibrating. His eyes, black and hot, were fastened with most piercing intentness upon Hawe and Sneed. "Git back, Bill, git back!" he roared. "Git 'em back!"
You're going to the bad. But Bill thinks, and I think, you're still a man. We never knew you to lie. Now what have you to say for yourself?" "Nobody is insinuating that I am a liar?" drawled Stewart. "No." "Well, I'm glad to hear that. You see, Al, I was pretty drunk last night, but not drunk enough to forget the least thing I did. I told Pat Hawe so this morning when he was curious.
They'll come back to-morrow, soon as Bill gets rid of this gang. You need not worry about them or your property." "Do you have any idea who is hiding in the house?" "I was worried some at first. Pat Hawe acted queer. I imagined he'd discovered he was trailing bandits who might turn out to be his smuggling guerrilla cronies.
Hawe did a moment's battle with strangling fury, which he conquered in some measure. "I said you was a low-down, drunken cow-puncher, a tough as damn near a desperado as we ever hed on the border," went on Hawe, deliberately. His speech appeared to be addressed to Stewart, although his flame-pointed eyes were riveted upon Monty Price.
I was about to get started up this way when Pat Hawe come in. "Pat he's the sheriff. I reckon, Miss Majesty, thet sheriffs are new to you, an' fer sake of the West I'll explain to you thet we don't hev many of the real thing any more. Garrett, who killed Billy the Kid an' was killed himself near a year or so ago he was the kind of sheriff thet helps to make a self-respectin' country.
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