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Updated: June 20, 2025
Van Horn whirled in a flash of anger: "You talk as if you think I'd ripped it off myself." "I do think so." For one instant the two men, confronting, eyed each other, Van Horn's face aflame. Both carried Colt's revolvers in hip holsters; Van Horn's gun slung at his right hip, Laramie's slung at his left. Both were known capable of extremes. Then the critical moment passed.
"A ride or something what?" "Something, John." "Thunder! It must have been the ride. I had a deputy marshalship all lined up for you if that hadn't happened. And believe me, boy, a deputy marshalship isn't lying around loose every day!" Kate listened keenly for Laramie's comment: "The ride was worth the price, John," was all he said. "Some skirt, eh?"
What he conveyed, when he meant to withhold information, was really no more than an air of reserve in which wisdom seemed discreetly restrained. On this present occasion he realized it would be known that he had encountered the raiders the day before at Laramie's but while admitting this profusely, he minimized all else.
"Can you ride to the Falling Wall for me right away with a word for Laramie?" Simeral said nothing, but his heavy eyes closed as he nodded again. "Laramie's gone home. He thinks Van Horn is in jail. The story is," continued Tenison, "that Van Horn and old Barb quarreled, that they came to blows and that Barb turned Stone and him over to Druel again to lock up."
Stone, uneasy and alert, stood under the bridge, his rifle across his arm. The two men saw each other almost at the same instant. For Stone, it was the climax of a hatred long nursed because of a supremacy long challenged. And for him it was an open field with weapons in which his skill was as matchless as Laramie's was held to be, at close quarters, with a Colt's revolver.
It seemed impossible she could ever make the bank, now very near, and get up out of the water; only Laramie's hand locked firm now in her horse's mane, his strong voice as he urged the horses or called to Hawk, gave her the slightest hope of coming out alive. Laramie cried to her to duck as a cottonwood leaning over the water almost tore her cap and hair from her head.
They wandered from one object to another in the dim candle gloom, until they rested on Laramie's face; there they stopped. Laramie's features relaxed into as near a smile as he permitted himself on duty: "How you coming, Abe?" Hawk eyed him steadily: "What are you doing here tonight?" Laramie answered with a question: "How about trying the gauntlet?" "That what you want?"
On the 26th of May, the travellers encamped at Laramie's Fork, a clear and beautiful stream, rising in the west-southwest, maintaining an average width of twenty yards, and winding through broad meadows abounding in currants and gooseberries, and adorned with groves and clumps of trees.
"No dry clothes for you, but we can't help it." She protested she did not mind the wet. Hawk in the saddle was waiting with their horses. Rain was still falling and with the persistent certainty of a mountain storm. Kate, mounting with Laramie's help, got her lines into her hands. "It's pretty dark," he said, standing at her stirrup. "We'll have to ride slow.
Laramie and her children. One afternoon while he was there he saw Miss Longstreth and Ruth ride up to the door. They carried a basket. Evidently they had heard of Mrs. Laramie's trouble. Duane felt strangely glad, but he went into an adjoining room rather than meet them. "Mrs. Laramie, I've come to see you," said Miss Longstreth, cheerfully.
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