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Updated: June 9, 2025
The mustangers were well known in this district and could prove their reason for being where they were found. And Kitchell had raided one of their corrals last season, so they had no possible tie with the elusive outlaw. Probably by now the Trinfans had returned to their hunt for the Pinto.
"No, we weren’t that lucky—you must have had the lion’s share of that commodity here today. We have a Mexican, name unknown. He was shot down while trying to pick up the rider Shiloh got rid of—who just might have been Kitchell. But this prisoner may be moved to tell us about the three who got away. If these wind storms keep up, they could powder over the trail and the boys will need help."
Kitchell had a jocular manner. His words, even in the discussions of the most serious matters, had a touch of humor. "That is what surprised me most. The girls are Christians, that is, the greater number are. But one would have thought it was a reform school. I think those days are gone.
The next morning, during Charlie's watch on deck, a Chinaman was sent up into the crow's nest, and from that time on there was always a lookout maintained from the masthead. More than once Wilbur looked around him at the empty coruscating indigo of the ocean floor, wondering at the necessity of the lookout, and finally expressed his curiosity to Kitchell.
I hardly think you can claim this is one of Kitchell’s men, if that is what you have in mind." "No, but he’ll be out of this town or he’ll answer to me. Both of you—next time you step over the line, I’m taking you both in!" Bayliss spoke now to Nye. "I heard young Shannon was here, that you had him in tow and that he’s seen Kitchell. I want to talk to him."
Wilbur ran up, peered over the little space between the wheel and the wheel-box, and looked straight into a pair of eyes eyes that were alive. Kitchell came up. "One left, anyhow," he muttered, looking over Wilbur's shoulder; "sailor man, though; can't interfere with our salvage. The bark's derelict, right enough. Shake him out of there, son; can't you see the lad's dotty with the gas?"
For some reason the quartet of fugitives must have been trailing quite a distance behind the main band, and so had been warned in time by the gunfire. Was one of that four Shannon? And what would it mean to Rennie if Shannon did turn up now with Kitchell?
"What scout—that Indian who got away with your partner? I heard rumors that Kitchell had links with bronco Apaches, but I didn’t believe any white man could stoop so low." "That Indian"—Drew felt as if he were walking a very narrow mountain ledge in the dark, with a drop straight down to the middle of the world on one side—"was a Pima, one of the Stronghold scouts."
Shut up!" he roared; "shut up, you crazy do-do, ain't we coming fast as we can?" The dory bumped alongside, and the Captain was over the rail like quicksilver. The hands were all in the bow, looking and pointing to the west. Jim slid down the ratlines, bubbling over with suppressed news. Before his feet had touched the deck Kitchell had kicked him into the stays again, fulminating blasphemies.
"I ain't a skipper of no oil-boat any longer. I'm a beach-comber." He fixed the wallowing bark with glistening eyes. "Gawd strike me," he murmured, "ain't she a daisy? It's a little Klondike. Come on, son." The two went down the ratlines, and Kitchell ordered a couple of the hands into the dory that had been rowing astern. He and Wilbur followed.
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