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Updated: September 9, 2025
Maybe Kitchell will ride south, or maybe he’ll head directly back into Apache country. Either way that trail’s going to be as easy for anyone after him as walking barefoot through a good roaring fire! Hunt still has blind faith in Johnny.... I was hoping you could help break that." "That why you got me out of the camp?" Drew asked. "Partly.
"Old woman copped off," said Kitchell, "so much the better for us; no heirs to put in their gab; an' hold hard steady all here's the will, s'help me." The only items of importance in the will were the confirmation of the wife's death and the expressly stated bequest of "the bark known as and sailing under the name of the 'Lady Letty' to my only and beloved daughter, Moran." "Well," said Wilbur.
If Kitchell had made such a sweeping raid, he would be certain to run the animals in that direction, for the outlaw was fully aware of Rennie’s reputation and temper, and knew that Don Cazar would trail him with set determination. This meant the outlaw must have set up some plan for avoiding pursuit. Rouse the Apaches? Or prepare an ambush? Either could work.
"Strike me blind, I'd like to see any one try'n take her away from Alvinza Kitchell now," and he thrust out his chin at Wilbur. "Well, so much the better, then," said Wilbur, pocketing the papers. The pair ascended to the deck. The burial of Captain Sternersen was a dreadful business.
Every Senior and Middler is pledged to conduct examinations as they were conducted this morning, and we are heartily glad." "So say we all of us," was the cordial response. They had come to the hall leading to the girls' dormitory. So far and no farther could Dr. Kitchell walk with Miss Hobart. Elizabeth hurried to her room. Loud tones came from her apartment.
"Up in the crow's nest," exclaimed Wilbur. "It's Jim, see, he's waving his arms." "Well, whaduz he wave his dam' fool arms for?" growled Kitchell, angry because something was going forward he did not understand. "There, he's shouting again. Listen I can't make out what he's yelling." "He'll yell to a different pipe when I get my grip of him.
Kitchell gazed doubtfully at the first few strokes, then with growing interest watched the tremendous reach, the powerful knee-drive, the swing, the easy catch, and the perfect recover. The dory was cutting the water like a gasoline launch, and between strokes there was the least possible diminishing of the speed.
Only this operation was too slick for most bandidos. They don’t go in for timed, planned things; they jus’ cut loose when they see a chance. This was different. Only Fenner an’ some of the train guards ridin’ in spoiled their game." "Kitchell then?" "Sounds more like. Don’t think Kitchell’s some common ridge-ridin’ bad man.
"Then they're pretty well concealed about the premises," turned Wilbur, as he passed the glass to the Captain. "She does seem kinda empty," said the Captain in a moment, with a sudden show of interest that Wilbur failed to understand. "An' where's her boats?" continued Kitchell. "I don't just quite make out any boats at all." There was a long silence.
A gun is still useful, worth money, if he who picks it up from beside the dead does not want it for himself. So—such a bandido as this Kitchell, he could take horses, good, trained horses—maybe from the army—and he would run them south. He would sell them for money, sí, probably much money. But also he could trade for guns—two, three, five guns at a time.
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