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Updated: June 1, 2025
When he heard I was married to you he pretended he'd mistaken me for some one else. And when he explained who, and his feelings against that woman it was me he was describing I knew he was, as was suspected, one of the Lightfoot gang at Orrville. Sikkem wrote that note. I could stake my life on it. And now he's sent for you. He's asking you to go out to Spruce Crossing at night.
"I don't guess this is any kind of scallawag outfit of toughs which just get around and duff a bunch, and hit the trail for safety till the froth they've raised dies down again. It's Orrville repeating itself." He paused thoughtfully. His eyes were regarding the table before him. When he raised them again they were full of a peculiar light which shone in Bud's direction.
This man Sikkem. If he were one of the Orrville gang, what was more likely than that he should have sent that threat? If he sent it, what more likely than that he was one of the gang of rustlers operating here? If he were one of them, then what added significance did it give threat? A wave of sudden excitement replaced the panic of a moment before. "The only way we know."
There had been moments when the hideousness of his weak brother's fall had driven him to the verge of madness. But with each yielding to suffering had come a rally of passionate force that would not be overborne, and gradually mastery supervened. Ten miles out of Orrville on the homeward journey Bud received his first intimation that the battle was waning. It came almost as a shock.
Furthermore temptation was urging him, and more than once he lifted his reins, which became a sign of yielding. But all these emotions finally passed. It was evident that some even stronger force was really governing him. For, with a sharp ejaculation that conveyed every feeling suggested by disappointment, he swung his horse about and galloped off in a southeasterly direction toward Orrville.
You sneered at that ten thousand dollars, which seems to be a fortune to me. Ten thousand dollars!" she breathed. "And we haven't ten dollars between us in this house. Bob, it makes me mad when I think of it. You don't care. You don't worry. All yon care for is to get away from it all from me and spend your time among the boys in Orrville.
Guess I took you for a leddy I kind o' remember up Orrville way. An' the likeness is jest that o' two beans. I'm beat, ma'am, beat sore. I wouldn't have offered you insult for a farm. I'm sorry. I'd heerd the boss's wife was around, but I didn't figger I " Then he replaced his hat, and made as though to pass on. But he remained where he was. "Y'see, I was ridin' in about last night.
Orrville was a ranching township in the northwestern corner of Montana lying roughly some twenty miles west of the foothills of the Cathill Mountains, which, in turn, formed a projecting spur of the main range of the Rockies. Orrville was the township and Ju Penrose was the pioneer of its commerce.
How?" The questions came rapidly. "It came the night you were at Orrville. It was flung in through the open window late at night. I'd fallen asleep in my chair waiting. It hit me on the face. They'd made it fast around a grass-tuft." "Who sent it?" "It must have been the man, Sikkem, who's just sent in word to you he's shot up." "Sikkem? Why?"
And while the man listened to the story of his wife's adventures his mind went back to the scene in Ju Penrose's saloon, and the denial he had flung so heatedly at that philosophic cynic. Dug McFarlane was a picturesque creature. He was big in height and girth. He was also big in mind. And, which was much more important to the people of the Orrville ranching world, big in purse.
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