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Updated: May 27, 2025
That's probably howcome Tim to make a mistake. He figured he could give the horses the whip and make a getaway. The hold-up saw that. He had to shoot to kill or lose the gold. Bein' as he was a cold-blooded killer he shot." There were pinpoints of light in Emerson Crawford's eyes. He knew now the kind of man they were hunting.
The eyes of the two crossed like rapiers. "Howcome you here? Whad you want?" asked Roush thickly. Already he had made up his mind to kill, but he wanted to choose his own moment. The instinct of the killer is always to take his enemy at advantage. Clanton, with that sixth sense which serves the fighter, read his purpose as if he had printed it on a sign.
His gaze fastened on the boy, after one swift glance round. "Who's with you, kid?" he demanded. Keith began to sniffle. "Nobody." "Whadya doin' here?" "I want my daddy." "Who is yore daddy? What's yore name?" "Keith Crawford." Shorty bit off an oath of surprise. "Howcome you here?" "A man brought me." The rustler brushed the cobwebs of sleep from his eyes and brain.
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