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Updated: May 3, 2025
Another purpose was coupled with this; he was not going to drink enough to interfere with reasonable caution. Shorty's dissipated pleasures were interfered with shortly after midnight. A Mexican came in to the drinking-place with news. The world was on fire, at least that part of it which interested the cattlemen of the Malapi district.
"Will you tell this of yore own free will to the sheriff down at Malapi?" asked Crawford. "I sure will. Yessir, Mr. Crawford." The man's terror had swept away all thought of anything but the present peril. His color was a seasick green. His great body trembled like a jelly shaken from a mould. "It's too late now," cut in Dave savagely. "We came up about this stage robbery.
It's a damn shame, old pal. Tha's what it is." Dave nodded. A lump in his throat interfered with speech. "The ol' man lent me money to buy Chiquito, and I'm gonna keep the pinto till you get out. That'll help pay yore lawyer," continued Bob. "One thing more. You're not the only one that's liable to be sent up. Miller's on the way back to Malapi.
Then, "I'll send the grocery-men over to you. Tell them to get the grub out to-night. If the restaurant-men don't buy it I'll run my own chuck wagon outfit. See you later, Dave." For the next twenty-four hours there was no night in Malapi. Streets were filled with shoutings, hurried footfalls, the creaking of wagons, and the thud of galloping horses. Stores were lit up and filled with buyers.
"You're sure an easy mark, Buck," grunted a large fat man leaning against a wheel. His white, expressionless face and soft hands differentiated him from the tough range-riders. He did not belong with the outfit, but had joined it the day before with George Doble, a half-brother of the trail foreman, to travel with it as far as Malapi. In the Southwest he was known as Ad Miller.
He had never looked so handsome in her eyes. Juan Otero carried the news back to Malapi. He had been waiting on the crest of the hill to see the issue of the adventure and had come forward when Dave gave him a signal. Shorty brought Keith in from where he had left the boy in the brush. The youngster flew into his sister's arms.
"For manslaughter." "You didn't tell me this yesterday." "No. It has no bearing on the value of the proposition I submitted to you, and I thought it might prejudice you against it." "Have you been in any trouble since you left prison?" Dave hesitated. The blazer of railroad trails rapped out a sharp, explanatory question. "Any shooting scrapes?" "A man shot at me in Malapi. I was unarmed."
He entrained for Malapi once more to look after the loose ends that had been accumulating locally in his absence. A road had to be built across the desert. Contracts must be let for hauling away the crude oil. A hundred details waited his attention. He worked day and night. Often he slept only a few hours. He grew lean in body and curt of speech.
The cañons below were filled with mist as they rode down out of the mountains toward the crystal dawn that already flooded the plain. The court-house clock at Malapi said the time was midnight when the dust-covered men and horses drew into the town. The tired men slept till noon. At the Delmonico Restaurant they found Buck Byington and Steve Russell.
To apply to the Malapi bank for a loan would be to expose their financial condition to Steelman, and it was certain that he would permit no accommodation except upon terms that would make it possible to wreck the company. "I'm takin' the train for Denver to-morrow, Dave," the older man said.
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