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Updated: June 1, 2025
Lidgerwood's acceptance as a table boarder in the cottage on the mesa being hospitably prompt, he was coming and going as regularly as his oversight of the three hundred miles of demoralization permitted before the buffoonery of the Red Butte Western suddenly laughed itself out, and war was declared.
That rifle-shot we heard a little spell ago settled it. No, he isn't dead" this in answer to Lidgerwood's unspoken question "but it will be a heap better for all concerned if he don't get over it. You can go down. Lieutenant Baldwin has posted his men around the shops and the Crow's Nest."
The freight wreck in the Crosswater Hills, coming a fortnight after Rufford's arrest and deportation to Copah and the county jail, rudely marked the close of the short armistice in the conflict between law and order and the demoralization which seemed to thrive the more lustily in proportion to Lidgerwood's efforts to stamp it out.
It's the kind of an outfit to kill a coward for the pure pleasure of it, if I'm not mistaken." "Well," said the man in the swing-chair, calmly, "maybe you need a little killing, Howard. Had you ever thought of that?" A gray look came into Lidgerwood's face. "Maybe I do." A little silence supervened. Then Ford plunged into detail.
You are long on civilization, Howard." "Not on the kind which has to be inculcated by main strength and a cheerful disregard for consequences. I'm no scrapper." To the eye of appraisal, Lidgerwood's personal appearance bore out the peaceable assertion to the final well-groomed detail.
In the pandemonium of untoward events, McCloskey was Lidgerwood's right hand, toiling, smiting, striving, and otherwise approving himself a good soldier. But close behind him came Gridley; always suave and good-natured, making no complaints, not even when the repair work made necessary by the innumerable wrecks grew mountain-high, and always counselling firmness and more discipline.
His foot was on the threshold of the stairway door when Judson overtook him. "Mac told me to report to you when I couldn't get at him," the ex-engineman began abruptly. "There's something hatching, but I can't find out what it is. Are you thinking about goin' out on the road anywhere to-night, Mr. Lidgerwood?" Lidgerwood's decision was taken on the instant.
If we'd hit it goin' west, we'd be in the river. That's why it was sprung out instead of in." Lidgerwood's right hand, balled into a fist, smote the air, and his outburst was a fierce imprecation. In the midst of it Groner said, "Listen!" and a moment later a man, walking rapidly up the track from the direction of Little Butte station, came into the small circle of lantern-light.
As the chief subaltern on Lidgerwood's small staff he was efficient and well-nigh invaluable. But as a man, Lidgerwood felt that he might easily be regarded as an enemy whose designs could never be fathomed or prefigured. In spite of Hallock's singular manner, which was an abrupt challenge to all comers, Lidgerwood acknowledged a growing liking for the chief clerk.
"I've been trying to find time for a month or more to come up and get acquainted with you, Mr. Lidgerwood," the visitor began, when Lidgerwood had waved him to a chair. "I hope you are not going to hold it against me that I haven't done it sooner." Lidgerwood's smile was meant to be no more than decently hospitable.
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