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Updated: May 24, 2025
He had carried Levins out of the Belmont and had thrown him, as he would have thrown a sack of meal, across the saddle, where he had lain during the four-mile ride, except during two short intervals in which Trevison had lifted him off and laid him flat on the ground, to rest.
She cared nothing about Corrigan, beyond a certain regret, but a wave of sickening fear swept over her at the growing conviction that her father must know something of all this. And if, as Levins said, Corrigan was attempting to defraud these people, she felt that common justice required that she head him off, if possible.
Darya Alexandrovna carried out her intention and went to see Anna. She was sorry to annoy her sister and to do anything Levin disliked. She quite understood how right the Levins were in not wishing to have anything to do with Vronsky. But she felt she must go and see Anna, and show her that her feelings could not be changed, in spite of the change in her position.
"No," she said, firmly. He laughed shortly. "Well, we'll get him. I've split my men up some have gone to his ranch, the others have headed for Levins' place." "What has happened?" "Enough. Judge Lindman disappeared the supposition is that he was abducted. I placed some men around the courthouse, to safeguard the records, and Trevison broke in and set fire to the place.
Evidently, whatever her trouble, she had determined to bear it alone, but was now wavering. "Tell me, Mrs. Levins; perhaps I can help you?" "You can!" The words burst sobbingly from the woman. "Maybe you can prevent it. But, oh, Miss Rosalind, I wasn't to say anything Clay told me not to. But I'm so afraid! Clay's so hot-headed, and Trevison is so daring! I'm afraid they won't stop at anything!"
There was nothing to do but to wait, and he sank behind a huge block of stone in an angle of the ledge, noting with satisfaction that he could see the slope that he had set Levins to guard. "I'm the boss of this fort if I don't go to sleep," he told himself grimly as he stretched out.
When he got to the shed where he had hitched Nigger he mounted and rode down the railroad tracks toward the cut, where an hour later he was joined by Clay Levins, who came toward him, riding slowly and cautiously. Patrick Carson had wooed sleep unsuccessfully. For hours he lay on his cot in the tent, staring out through the flap at the stars. A vague unrest had seized him.
He got it into his hand and almost out of the pocket before Levins' first bullet struck him, and before he could draw it entirely out the second savage bark of the gun in Levins' hand shattered the stillness of the room. Soundlessly, his face wreathed in a grin of hideous satire, Marchmont sank to the floor and stretched out on his back.
He was flat on his stomach, no doubt having crept there during the minutes that Trevison had been enjoying his rest, and at the instant Trevison saw him he was raising his rifle, directing it at the recess where Levins had been left, on guard. Trevison was wide awake now, and his marksmanship as deadly as ever. He waited until the man's rifle came to a level. Then his own weapon spat viciously.
Their flaming levins threaded the shimmering veils, patterned them, as though they were the flying robes of the very spirit of fire. And the tumult was as ten thousand Thors, smiting with hammers against the enemies of Odin. As a forge upon whose shouting anvils was being shaped a new world. A new world? A metal world!
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