Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 5, 2025
But she's dead to you dead to the life you made her lead dead as you will be in one second!" Swift as lightning Venters's glance dropped from Oldring's rolling eyes to his hands. One of them, the right, swept out, then toward his gun and Venters shot him through the heart. Slowly Oldring sank to his knees, and the hand, dragging at the gun, fell away.
Now all those fiendish little whispers of doubt and faith and fear and hope come torturing me again. I've got to kill them with the truth." "I'll tell you anything you want to know," she replied, frankly. "Then by Heaven! we'll have it over and done with!... Bess did Oldring love you?" "Certainly he did." "Did did you love him?" "Of course. I told you so."
I wonder if other members of Oldring's gang are women? Likely enough. But what was his game? Oldring's Mask Rider! A name to make villagers hide and lock their doors. A name credited with a dozen murders, a hundred forays, and a thousand stealings of cattle. What part did the girl have in this? It may have served Oldring to create mystery." Hours passed.
You know as well as I how dearly we've paid for our ranges in this wild country. Oldring drives our cattle down into the network of deceiving canyons, and somewhere far to the north or east he drives them up and out to Utah markets. If you will spend time in Deception Pass try to find the trails." "Jane, I've thought of that. I'll try." "I must go now.
Bern, don't risk it now when the rustlers are in such shooting mood." "I'm going. Jud, how many cattle in that red herd?" "Twenty-five hundred head." "Whew! What on earth can Oldring do with so many cattle? Why, a hundred head is a big steal. I've got to find out." "Don't go," implored Jane. "Bern, you want a hoss thet can run.
Until Oldring had driven the red herd his thefts of cattle for that time had not been more than enough to supply meat for his men. Of late no drives had been reported from Sterling or the villages north. And Venters knew that the riders had wondered at Oldring's inactivity in that particular field.
There was the night ride of Tull's, which, viewed in the light of subsequent events, had a look of his covert machinations; Oldring and his Masked Rider and his rustlers riding muffled horses; the report that Tull had ridden out that morning with his man Jerry on the trail to Glaze, the strange disappearance of Jane Withersteen's riders, the unusually determined attempt to kill the one Gentile still in her employ, an intention frustrated, no doubt, only by Judkin's magnificent riding of her racer, and lastly the driving of the red herd.
The broad trail came from the direction of the canyon into which the rustlers had ridden, and undoubtedly the cattle had been driven out of it across the oval. There were no tracks pointing the other way. It had been in his mind that Oldring had driven the red herd toward the rendezvous, and not from it. Where did that broad trail come down into the pass, and where did it lead?
To Venters's question, "What were you to Oldring?" she had answered with scarlet shame and drooping head. "What do I care who she is or what she was!" he cried, passionately. And he knew it was not his old self speaking. It was this softer, gentler man who had awakened to new thoughts in the quiet valley.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking