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Updated: May 9, 2025
They had the peaks looming above them when Benito gave a gurgling gasp and stiffened, tall in the saddle, before he looped into a limp, dangling bundle of a man. Kitchell called a halt. He dismounted to examine the Mexican before he beckoned to Wayne. "He’s dead. We’ll need his horse. Put him down behind those rocks over there, Sergeant." "You know where we’re goin’, suh?" Shannon asked.
Iffen Kitchell has got him some diehards backin’ him—" Nye shrugged again. "Git ’long there, you knock-kneed, goat-headed wagon-loafer!" He pushed on to haze another slacker. They were dusty and dry when they dropped the corral gate in place and watched the horses mill around. Drew headed for Kells’ stable.
These latter Kitchell smashed in with the axe-head. Then he seated himself in the swivel chair and began to rifle their contents systematically, Wilbur leaning over his shoulder. The heat from the coal below them was almost unbearable.
When the Seniors and the Middlers, at the close of the spring semester, entered the class-room to take their examination in trigonometry, they found Dr. Kitchell the only member of the faculty present. He remained long enough to pass the small, printed slips of questions, and to explain the manner in which he wished the work done. A smile of relief passed over the class as he took his departure.
Kitchell was an excellent man, an able instructor, but he had a blunt way of expressing himself. Elizabeth's face flushed and then grew pale. For one instant her lips quivered and her eyes filled. But she quickly controlled herself, and began putting together her papers. Arising, she was about to quit the room. "Have you finished, Miss Hobart?" "No, I have not." Elizabeth spoke quietly.
I will not be dictated to, and the army had best understand that. I do not want Kitchell in this country any more than you do. He has made a boast of being Confederate leading what he terms Mounted Irregulars. But to my knowledge he never held a commission from the South, and he is nothing but an outlaw trading on the unsettled state of the territory.
"Suh—" Drew found it difficult to face Rennie. As his anxiety over the horse’s condition had faded, he had had time to think of something beyond his own affairs. "I want to say thanks." He got that out in a rush before he added the admission he must make: "I spoiled your plan to take Kitchell." Rennie’s dark eyes held his as they had always been able to do.
"You’re one of Kitchell’s scavengers, come into town with gold for supplies and a chance to contact the people you want to meet. I’ve known for a long time that Topham, Rennie, and probably a dozen other so-called citizens of that miserable outlaws’ roost are backing Kitchell. Now here’s a chance to prove it!" "Not through me, you don’t," Drew cut in.
Shannon leaped, putting his horse between him and the open. He had the reins of Drew’s mount in his hand. Kitchell went into a half crouch, and was startled into snapping a shot in the general direction of the voice. Drew sat statue still. It was only too easy in this tricky light, bright though the moon was, to seem one of the men those ahead were hunting. He had no desire to stop a bullet now.
He’d never’ve lasted this long was that so—not with th’ Old Man an’ th’ army an’ what law there is in th’ territory all gunnin’ for him. Plans things, Kitchell does, an’ so far his plannin’ has always paid off. "There’s something else true now, too. Was Kitchell plannin’ to make a break south, he’d want him a good big stake to cover him on cold nights an’ winter days.
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