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Updated: May 29, 2025
While Warden and Singleton were stamping their feet in an effort to restore circulation, the Two Diamond man called to them from the far end of the stable: "You run into Miss Della?" Warden wheeled toward the man. "What do you mean, Lefty? What about Miss Della? Isn't she at the ranchhouse?" "She rode away about three hours ago on that big roan of hers. Went to town, most likely. She didn't say.
Instead of launching out in a compact mass whose point of contact was the reaching knife, Lefty crawled stupidly forward upon his knees, and had to throw out his knife hand to save his balance. It is a singular thing to note how important balance is to men. Animals fight, as a rule, just as well on their backs as they do on their feet.
He had been placed near the open door, and the rush of night air had done its work in reviving him. But Lefty, drawn back to life, felt only a vague wonder that his life had not been taken. Perhaps he was being reserved by the victor for an Indian death of torment. He felt cautiously and found that not only were his hands free, but his revolver had not been taken from him.
Individually the actions may be slow; but the series of efforts seem rapid. That is why a superior boxer seems to hypnotize his antagonist with movements which to the spectator seem perfectly easy, slow, and sure. But if Lefty lacked much in agility, he had an animallike sense of balance.
At the dull boom of the twin explosions, a crashing sound was heard in the brush, as if something was wildly threshing about. Then bullets began to rip and smash their way through the undergrowth. Cedar twigs flew. With a yell, Mike Train slumped down over his saddle pommel and rolled off his horse. At the same instant, the two others Lefty Warren and Red Morton reached for their guns.
But then, who had ever been able to fathom the ways of Donnegan? "Donnegan!" he cried with a sudden recklessness. "Yes?" "You're a fool!" "Yes?" "For not finishing the job." Donnegan began to laugh. In the uproar of the train it was impossible really to hear the sound, but Lefty caught the pulse of it. He fingered his bruised throat; swallowing was a painful effort.
They were mere shadows; but the farther of the three seemed to be Barney Palmer he was not sure; but of the identity of the other two there was no doubt: "Little Mick" and "Lefty Ed," both members high in the councils of the Ginger Bucks, and either of whose services as a killer could be purchased for a hundred dollars or a paper of cocaine, depending upon which at the moment there was felt the greater need.
"Well, he isn't anything like as dull as I can be when I try," said the Poker. "He's pretty dull, though." "I don't see where the joke comes in," snapped Tom, who did not at all like the way the Andirons and the Poker were behaving. "If there are only three things we can do and you won't do two of them there's only one left." "Ha, ha, ha!" roared Lefty.
He had sixty men in each camp, and he was getting the name of a driver. Three miles above his Tyee camp, she knew, lay the camp her husband had put in during the early summer to cut a heavy limit of cedar. Fyfe had only a small crew there. She wondered a little why he spent so much time there, when he had seventy-odd men working near home. But of course he had an able lieutenant in Lefty Howe.
His voice was soft and quietly modulated. His diction was that of a fairly well educated man. Professor Brierly nodded curtly. Brasher pointed to a chair and said: "To save time, Boyle, I suppose you'll admit that you're 'Chicago' Boyle, alias 'Lefty' Harris, alias " Boyle nodded indifferently. "Oh, yes, I'm Boyle all right, what of it?
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