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Updated: June 6, 2025
Merry had wondered that Del Norte's late companions should make such a move; but now, knowing the Mexican's passion for her, the motive of her capture was clear. The thought of Inza in the hands of that villain fired Frank's blood.
I'll go over and interview him now." "You can't. He's to a christening at some Mexican's up the creek. Won't be home till late." "Well, morning's as good a time as any, I reckon, for a wedding," said Scott, philosophically. "We've got to stay over anyhow, to see the women off. Tomorrow's your train day, ain't it? Or have you changed your schedule?" "No, we haven't changed it," replied Penhallow.
I really think I was just in time to save the man's life. According to my belief another minute would have buried the hook in the Mexican's neck. Anyway, I thrust the muzzle of my Colt's into the sailor's face. "What's this?" I asked. The sailor looked up at me without changing his position. He was not the least bit afraid. "This man has my coat," he explained. "Where'd you get the coat?"
Surely he could expect no assistance from either of the mad Mexican's companions. The white man stood looking on with an air of indifference. Red Ben was motionless, his rifle leaning against the wall at his side. "You see there is no escape," laughed Del Norte. "At last you begin to understand. You have triumphed over others, but in me you meet your master." "My master no!
"You do now, though," replied Bridge, and as the Mexican's eyes returned in the direction of his companion he was forced to admit that he did see something the dismal, hollow eye of a six-shooter looking him straight in the face. "Senor Bridge!" exclaimed Rozales. "What are you doing? What do you mean?"
"Better get up to the shack, Red," he said quietly, "You've lost a lot of juice." The man smiled wanly, reeled In his saddle, and clutching fruitlessly at the horn, slipped limply down into Douglass's supporting arms. Subsequent examination revealed that he had also been wounded by the Mexican's rifle shot.
The gunman had been merciful for the moment, only to turn his captives over to the merciless men of the mines; men who held a Mexican's life worth no more than a dog's. The wounded man, stiff in the saddle, turned his head. Round a bend in the dry river-bed, his neck held sideways that the reins might drag free, came Waring's big buckskin horse, Dexter. The horse stopped as he saw the group.
Grayson was quick to catch the significance of the Mexican's meaning. The more so as it was directly in line with suspicions which he himself had been nursing since the robbery. During the colloquy the boss entered the office. He had heard the returning vaqueros ride into the ranch and noting that they brought no steers with them had come to the office to hear their story.
I was a Mexican's dog, there's no use talking, but oh, well, I've been a damned fool." "You mustn't swear so much," she corrected him gently; and then they gazed at each other in silence. "It's strange," she murmured, "how we hated each other. Almost from the first day, it seems. But no, not the first! I liked you then, Rimrock; better than I ever will again.
Señor Engle understood? . . . Later, when del Rio had found the properties to his liking and had builded a home, his wife and two daughters would arrive. Now they travelled in California. In the end Engle accepted the Mexican's deposits, which amounted to approximately a thousand dollars, and which were to be drawn against merely as an expense account until del Rio found his ranch.
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