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Updated: June 25, 2025
Casey, McHale, and Sandy seized their nigh stirrups, shot them at their left toes, gripped saddle horns, and went up in an instant. Oscar, less expert, fumbled for a hold with his toe, hopping on his right leg as his horse sidled and backed. "Stand still, Ay tal you!" he gritted. "By Yudas, Ay club hal from you purty kvick!"
If there is it's a stand-off. Either way we have to wait till it gets light." "I been thinkin' we might as well move on a ways," said McHale. "Here's old Simon drops in on us. Somebody else might. I don't feel right about it. I want to git some place, like up in one o' them basins, where strangers won't be passin' by every day."
The deadly rage in his face changed to blank wonder. His pistol arm sagged. Then he collapsed gently, not as a tree falls, but as an overweighted sapling bends, swaying backward until, overbalanced, he thudded limply on the ground. McHale, half crouched like a fighting animal awaiting an attack, peered with burning eyes over the hot muzzle of his gun at the prostrate figure.
"It's just want of practice," grinned McHale. "Some day when I have time I'm going out to get me a girl like you. There was one down at " But Clyde's appearance interrupted McHale's reminiscences. She and Sheila, arms about each other, strolled away to exchange confidences. Casey and Farwell followed. "We ain't in it," said McHale. "Well, who wants to be?" said Sandy.
And the men find out that they're playin' different systems; likewise, that each has a good point or two." "She sure must have been a hard trip for you down from the hills," Sandy commented, with much sarcasm. "Love," said McHale sentimentally, "is a durn funny thing." Sandy's disgusted comment consisted of but one word not usually associated with the tender passion.
They surged up the coulée, emerging on the higher bench land by the trail. "Look here, Tom," said Dunne, "what did you want to do the shooting for back there? Afraid I'd get rattled and hit somebody?" McHale grinned in the darkness. "Not hardly. Mostly, Casey, you mamook tumtum a heap you look ahead and savvy plenty. You're foolish the way an old dog fox is. But onct in a while you overlook a bet.
At the end of another day Sandy became restless; his capacity for loafing was exhausted. "Let's go get a bear," he proposed. "Deer's better meat," said McHale; "also easier to get. I won't climb after no bear." Nevertheless, he accompanied Sandy down the valley. They saw no bear; but they shot a young buck, and returned to camp with the carcass lashed behind Sandy's saddle.
He and Dade looked straight into each other's eyes in the silence that followed. Cross made a sudden movement. "Be careful, partner!" McHale warned him in hard tones. Once more Clyde, an involuntary listener, felt the presence of a crisis, the chill of fate impending. But, as before, it passed. "You're barking up the wrong tree," said Dade. "Nothing starts now. Better remember what I told you.
Sandy examined the wound by the feeble light of matches, which McHale held in his left hand, and declared that the arteries were uninjured. He cut off a leg of his trousers below the knee, and, with McHale's shirt sleeve, organized a bandage, binding it with the thongs of his moccasins, swearing steadily below his breath. McHale leaned back against the rock and demanded his pipe.
"I'll think about it," said Dade coolly. "You'll do more than think about it if you crowd in here," Sandy retorted. "Nobody wants to crowd you," said Dade. "We're after McHale, and we're goin' to get him. Don't you mix up in it. If you do you may get hurt." "That ain't such bad advice, kid," interrupted McHale. "I'm able for 'em, I reckon. Better pull your freight like he tells you.
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