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Updated: June 29, 2025
"You can say on," he gave leave calmly. But the huge man drew a slip of cardboard from his pocket instead, and wrote upon it. It seemed to be one of a stock for such emergencies, for it bore no engraving. "If you'll carry this to Harry Larrabie, he'll understand. He'll give you what you need and send you against Condit Saturday night. Short notice for you, I know, but you look to be in shape."
"He murdered poor Jesus Menendez, didn't he?" "You mean you're going to shoot him down in cold blood?" "What's the matter with hanging?" Slim asked brutally. "No," spoke up Keller quickly. The old man nodded agreement. "No they didn't hang Menendez." "Your sheep herder died if he died at all, and we have no proof of it with a gun in his hands," Larrabie said.
The man was testing in his hand something that clicked. Larrabie swung quietly to the ground, and waited. His eyes were like tempered steel. "Here's your horse," he said. Before the other man moved, he drawled: "I reckon I'd better tell you I'm armed, too. Don't be hasty." Dixon turned his swollen face to him in a childish fury.
We need to take the rest cure for that habit," Larrabie mused aloud, seating himself on a flat boulder between Tom and the ranch. Dixon let out an oath. "Did you bring me here to tell me that durn foolishness?" "Not only to tell you. I figured we would try out the rest cure, you and me.
The end came with a suddenness of which Larrabie had but an instant's warning in the swift flare of joy that lit the madman's face. His foot, searching for a brace as he was borne back, found only empty space. Plunged downward, the nester clung viselike to the man above, dragged him after, and by the very fury of Irwin's assault flung him far out into the gulf head-first.
If he wants to know who D. is, better advise Larrabie to call me 'Denver' 'Denver' Smith will do. Just a disinterested party." And at that Fox-face was instantly, visibly consumed with curiosity. The reporter looked almost as though he understood. "He might not approve of me," he chose to be downright, and enlighten Fox-face at the same time. "He doesn't now, as it is."
"Bet you you've not heard from him in three years in five!" "There's too many sure things in this world," opined the huge man, calm under Fox-face's challenge with something like contempt, "to bother with a gamble." He squinted a moment in thought. "But when we pull into Shell you'd better wire Larrabie to be discreet.
As for the reputation of the girl, it was safe at the Twin Star ranch. Buck's sister, a maiden lady of uncertain years, was on hand to play chaperone. Larrabie swung to the saddle. His horse's hoofs were presently flinging dirt toward the Twin Star as he loped up to the hills.
He let his unabashed gaze travel from one to another, understood perfectly what those expressionless eyes of stone were telling him, and, with a little laugh of light derision, trailed debonairly into the store. "Any mail for Larrabie Keller?" he inquired of the postmistress. The girl at the window glanced incuriously at him and turned to look.
Keller spoke absently, considering whether this might be the propitious moment to try his luck. They had been comrades together in an adventure well concluded. Both were thinking of what Dixon had said. It seemed to Larrabie that it would be a wonderful thing if they might ride back through the warm sunlight with this new miracle of her love in his life.
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