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Updated: June 16, 2025
I could go with a guard, but to tell you the truth, Rathburn, it's got to a point where I can't trust a soul." "Why not Mannix?" asked Rathburn sharply. Sautee shook his head; his beady, black eyes glowed, and he stroked his chin. "There's another sorrowful point," he explained. "I tell you we're up against it here, Rathburn.
He lighted the weed and smiled quizzically while they examined the meager contents of the slicker pack on the rear of his saddle. "See you're packing a black slicker," said Mannix, pointing to the rough raincoat in which the pack was wrapped. "That's in case of rain," was the ready answer. "What's your name?" asked the deputy with a frown. "Rathburn." "Where was you heading?"
They could see the menace in Rathburn's manner, and they could see that Carlisle was fighting mad. "Ain't you a little free with your language, Carlisle?" drawled Rathburn. "You know who he is?" Carlisle cried to Mannix. "He's The Coyote an outlaw an' a killer with a price a mile long on his head "
Kinsella with her baby, the three small Kinsella boys, Frank Mannix, who, to the further injury of his ankle, had hobbled down the hill, and in the far background, the Reverend Barnabas Pennefather. Lady Isabel rushed upon her father, flung her arms round his neck and kissed him passionately with tears in her eyes. Lord Torrington did not seem particularly pleased to see her.
"Now, don't you think I know it?" replied Rathburn in a voice which carried to all the members of the mob. "You don't want me for robbing this mine, Mannix; you want me for something you don't know anything about because I've got a record. Wait a minute!" He shot out the words as the mob pushed a step forward.
"Come to let me out, sheriff?" inquired Rathburn sleepily. The deputy looked at him keenly, opened the cage, and motioned to him to follow. Rathburn went with him out into the little office. It was broad day. Mannix picked up a pistol from his desk and extended it to Rathburn. "Here's your gun, Rathburn. You can go," he said, pressing his lips close together.
Priscilla began the course of diplomatic politeness herself. "We're delighted to see you," she said. "My name is Priscilla Lentaigne, and my cousin is Frank Mannix. We're out for a picnic." "My name," said the lady, "is Rutherford, Martha Rutherford. I'm out after sponges." "Sponges!" said Frank. Priscilla winked at him. The statement about the sponges was obviously untrue.
If such was the case, Rathburn reflected, how did it come that Sautee had been able to effect his release so easily? He stopped as he drew alongside of the deputy. "This man Sautee," he drawled, looking Mannix square in the eye; "he must have a good drag with the county seat, eh?" The deputy's scowl deepened. "He didn't get you out by word of mouth alone," he said sharply.
He led Rathburn to one of the single cells, of which there were six on one side of the jail room proper. "Maybe you'll be ready to talk in the morning," he said, as he locked his prisoner in. "Morning might be too late," Rathburn observed, taking tobacco and papers from his shirt pocket. "What do you mean by that?" Mannix asked sharply. "I might change my mind." "About talking, eh?
Mannix stumbled, got his fishing-rod entangled in the rail of the gangway, swung half round and then fell sideways on the pier. The fishing-rod, plainly broken in pieces, remained in his hand. The gun-case bumped along the pier and was picked up by a porter. Mannix was extremely angry.
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