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Updated: June 28, 2025
If you'll kiss me good-night, Donna, I think I can manage to last until morning." Late the following afternoon Harley P. Hennage returned from Bakersfield and at once went to the post-office and secured Bob's registered letter.
Hennage talked, and when the gambler had learned all he wished to know he closed his eyes and was silent until another knock came on the door. Again Bob opened it. Donna stood on the threshold. "Oh, sweetheart!" she cried, and her arms went around his neck, while Sam Singer softly closed the door and stood guard outside. At the sound of her voice Mr.
Hennage paused and glanced across the blistering half- mile of desert, to where the sun glinted on the dun walls of the Hat Ranch. In the middle distance a dashing girlish figure in a blue dress was walking up the tracks. Mr. Hennage's three gold teeth flashed like heliographs. "This world is so full o' a number o' things, I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings"
I'll close my game after the funeral an' vamose." But to return to affairs at the Hat Ranch. While Harley P. Hennage sat in the Silver Dollar saloon that afternoon dealing faro automatically and pondering the problem of the precise purpose for which he had been created; and while Mrs.
"I wouldn't give a white chip for a hull county o' such land" mused the gambler, "unless I could set in the game with the chap that had the water, an' Carey bein' a human hog, it stands to reason Bob's a chump to tie up with Him, unless unless he's got water of his own!" Mr. Hennage slapped his fat thigh. "By Jupiter," he murmured, "he's got the water! He must have it.
"I've heard," he replied deliberately, "that Donna Corblay is harboring a desperate character in her home." "I heard something else to-day. While we're gossiping, Mr. Hennage, I'll tell you the latest the very latest. It's reported that Dan Pennycook is drinking." "No!" Mr. Hennage was concerned. He was fond of Dan Pennycook. "Who told you!" he inquired.
He felt that there was a deeper, more vital reason than that. All of his days Mr. Hennage had lived close to the primitive; he was a shrewd judge of human impulses and it had been his experience that men quarrel over two things women and money. The possible hypothesis of a woman, in the suspected quarrel between Bob McGraw and T. Morgan Carey, Harley P. dismissed as untenable.
At that instant the sound of another shot was heard, but faintly. "That's the hobo" announced Mr. Hennage with conviction. "Them first three shots came from a life-size gun." Half a minute passed; then came the report of six shots, following so quickly upon each other that they sounded almost like a volley. "Nine shots" commented "Borax" O'Rourke. "That's an automatic." "That's what it is!" Mr.
For the second time there was a crisis at the Hat Ranch, and Sam yielded to his first impulse, which was to seek help where something told him help would never be withheld. In the meantime, Harley P. Hennage had fled to the seclusion of his room in the eating-house hotel.
McGraw might construe his advances as a roundabout dun. Ergo, Mr. Hennage fled.
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