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Updated: June 5, 2025
An overcast sky, darkening the night, concealed the alkali crusting the riders and their horses; but the hard breathing of the latter in the darkness told of a pace forced for some hours. "Find your feet before you go in, Pardaloe," suggested the heavier of the two men guardedly to the taller one.
I'll try driving those fellows off their perch." She caught his arm. "What are you going to do?" "Run in on them from cover, wherever I can find it, Nan, and push them back. We've got to have those horses." "Henry, we can get others from the stable." "There may be more men waiting there for us." "If we could only get away without a fight!" "This is Sassoon and his gang, Nan. You heard Pardaloe.
Ignoring Lefever's pleasantry, Pardaloe, pulling his hat brim through force of habit well over his eyes, shook himself loose and, like a big cat walking in water, stepped toward the door. He could move his tall, bony frame, seemingly covered only with muscles and sinews, so silently that in the dark he made no more sound than a spectre.
Duke heard from Pardaloe, during the night and the early morning, every report with indifference. He only sat and smoked, hour after hour, in silence.
But, for one, at least, who heard the passionless, monotonous recital of a murder of the long ago, there followed a silence as relentless as fate, a silence shrouded in the mystery of the darkness and striking despair into two hearts a silence more fearful than any word. Pardaloe shuffled his feet. He coughed, but he evoked no response.
"Can you spot the room when you get up-stairs, where we saw that streak of light a minute ago?" demanded Pardaloe, gazing at the black front of the building. "I can spot every foot of the place, up-stairs and down, in the dark," declared Lefever, peering through the inky night at the ruinous pile.
"My name" in the tenseness of the dark the words seemed to carry added mystery "is Pardaloe." "Where from?" "My home is southwest of the Superstition Mountains." "You've got a brother Joe Pardaloe?" suggested de Spain to trap him. "No, I've got no brother. I am just plain Jim Pardaloe." "Say what you have got to say, Jim."
Bunny put it on Pardaloe, and she and Gale had it, and b'jing, Gale put me out said he'd pepper me. But wait till I tell y' how she fooled him. It was rainin' like hell, 'n' it looked as if I was booked for a ride through it and hadn't half drunk my second cup of coffee at that.
"I thought you was entitled to know," he said finally, "now that Sassoon will never talk any more." De Spain moistened his lips. When he spoke his voice was cracked and harsh, as if with what he had heard he had suddenly grown old. "You are right, Pardaloe. I thank you. I when I in the morning. Pardaloe, for the present, go back to the Gap. I will talk with Wickwire to-morrow."
Pardaloe was drenched with rain, and, taking off his hat as he crossed the room to the fire, he shook it hard into the blazing wood. "What do you want, Pardaloe?" snapped Duke. Pardaloe shook his hat once more and turned a few steps so that he stood between the uncurtained window and the light. "The creek's up," he said to Duke in his peculiarly slow, steady tone.
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