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Updated: May 26, 2025
Rumor told of thieves and murderers encamped in the hollow bowl of a great sandhill, where they slept or caroused by day, venturing forth only at night. Aleck McTurpin's name was now and then associated with them as a leader. Men were importing safes from the States and carrying derringers at night even the peaceful Mormons.
I will tell you how to serve your country.... There's a schooner called the 'J.M. Chapman. Do you know where it lies?" "No," Benito answered, "but that's easily discovered. If you've anything to say go on." McTurpin's bony fingers clutched Benito's sleeve. "Listen," he said. "Bend nearer." His voice droned on, at times imperceptible, again hoarse with excitement. Benito sat moveless, absorbed.
He was thinking rapidly. So this was the daughter of Benito's partner the murdered miner of the Eldorado tragedy. He recalled the letter from Colton; the hint of McTurpin's infatuation and its menace. Things became clear to him suddenly. The door gave as he pressed his knee against it. Presently the flimsy lock capitulated and he walked into the room.
"The missing girl, of course," said Dr. James. "He's daft about her. Alice Burthen ... that's her name, isn't it?" Stanley was about to make some rejoinder when they passed two men, one of whom looked at them curiously. He was McTurpin's companion of the bar-room episode. "Who's that?" asked Spear as Brown saluted the pair. "That's Reverend Wheeler, the new Baptist parson." "Yes, yes, I know.
She sprang upon her horse and galloped toward the rancho. McTurpin, red and angry, watched her disappearing in a whirl of dust. "Look, my brother! He has spoken truly." Inez and Benito had ridden to the pueblo for a confirmation of McTurpin's words. They hitched their horses at the rack in Portsmouth Square and walked down toward the landing place. A large ship lay in the offing.
McTurpin's strength far overmatched that of the other. Instantly he was on his feet. Benito's second rush was countered by a blow upon the jaw. The boy fell heavily. McTurpin smoothed his ruffled plumage and picked up the scattered coins. "Take the young idiot home," he said across his shoulder, as he strode out. "Pour a little whisky down his throat. He isn't hurt."
"We are not taking bids from convicts," he said, loudly and distinctly. McTurpin's look of blind astonishment at Windham's words was succeeded by a whitehot fury. Two eyes gleamed with snake-like venom and two spots of red glowed in his cheeks, as though each had felt the impact of a sudden blow. For a moment he neither moved nor spoke.
Then he threw an ace upon the table. Followed it with a second. Then a third. And, amid wondering murmurs, a fourth. He reached out his hand for the stakes. Benito sat quite still. The victorious light had gone out of his eyes, but not a muscle moved. One might have thought him paralyzed or turned to stone by his misfortune. McTurpin's hand closed almost stealthily upon the paper.
"I'll bet, by Jupiter, McTurpin's there," cried Adrian. "And that he's hurt," Spear added. "What shall we do?" "Let them be," decided Stanley, clucking to his horse. "My duty's ahead." He took the steep pitch of the hillside almost at a gallop and soon they were descending again into that little settlement of waterside and slope called North Beach.
"The hang-out of our convict citizens from Australia, those eastern toughs and plug-uglies of the Seventh regiment who came here to feather their nests. Do you know what they've done? Formed a society called The Hounds. Appropriate, isn't it? Your friend McTurpin's one of them. Thanks to you, they've lost a valued member." "Hounds?" said Adrian. His thought still forged ahead.
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