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Updated: May 11, 2025
And haven't you made a radical mistake to start with?" he asked, stepping between the confused couple. "Are you not trying to broil a roast of beef?" "Where did you come from?" demanded McCloud, as Marion came in from the dining-room. "Don't search me the very first thing," protested Whispering Smith. "But we've been frightened to death here for twenty-four hours. Are you really alive and unhurt?
It was impossible not to admire the man, his tremendous capacity, his extraordinary power as a leader; and no one liked his better traits more than McCloud himself. But Sinclair never loved McCloud.
There's a chance yet for you to get them out of serious trouble if you think as much of them as they do of you. Will you advise them to go back to work all except Karg?" Sinclair glared in high humor. "Oh, I couldn't do that! I'm discharged!" he protested, bowing low. "I don't want to be over-hasty," returned McCloud.
Du Sang, whose eyelashes were white, blinked at the hole through the card, and looked around as he rode back across the field for the man that had held it; but Whispering Smith had disappeared. He was at that moment walking past the barbecue pit with George McCloud. "Rebstock talks a great deal about your shooting, Gordon," said McCloud to his companion.
His eyes twinkled with quiet amusement as he looked about him at the stricken faces of his friends. She whirled on the gaping McCloud. "But you must have a care!" she cried at him vehemently. "You must save his eyes. I wish it!" McCloud, recovering himself, bowed. "Madam," said he with a faint, amused irony. "It shall be my pleasure to do my best in fulfilling your commands."
"You ought to remember Wickwire, George," remarked Whispering Smith, turning to McCloud. "You haven't forgotten the Smoky Creek wreck? Do you remember the tramp who had his legs crushed and lay in the sun all morning? You put him in your car and sent him down here to the railroad hospital and Barnhardt took care of him. That was Wickwire.
"Sure," said McCloud, "I'll go twist that Chink washee-man. Been intending to for a week." And he stumped out on his wooden foot. The comet hit at precisely 7:42 by McCloud's big clock. Its head was Brower at high speed and tension; and its tail was the light alkali dust of Arizona mingled with the station agent. No irresistible force and immovable body proposition in mine; I gave to the impact.
I am Philip Curtis, Colonel McCloud, from Fort MacPherson, two thousand miles north of here, on the Mackenzie River. So you see, if it is a case of mistaken identity " "No no it is not that," interrupted the older man. "As we were passing your table we my daughter heard you speak a name. Perhaps she was mistaken. It was Peter God." "Yes. I know Peter God. He is a friend of mine."
The men eating breakfast in tents were to be sent on a work-train up a piece of Y-track that led as near as they could be taken to where they were needed. The train had pulled out when Dicksie, Marion, McCloud, and Whispering Smith took horses to get across to the hills and through to the ranch-house. They had ridden slowly for some distance when McCloud was called back.
There I ate breakfast, and sat down for a comfortable chat with McCloud while awaiting results. Got them very promptly. About eight o'clock Brower came downstairs. He passed through the office, nodding curtly to McCloud and me, and into the dining room where he drank several cups of coffee. Thence he passed down the street toward Sol Levi's.
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