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Purvy had not reformed, but, other things being equal, he would prefer to live and let live. He had reached that stage to which all successful villains come at some time, when he envied the placid contentment of respected virtues. Ordering Samson shot down was a last resort one to be held in reserve until the end.
"Does they know thet ye shot them shoots at Jesse Purvy?" Tamarack turned pale. "No," he stammered, "they believe you done hit." Samson laughed. He was thinking of the rifles trained on him from a dozen invisible rests. "How long air they a-goin' ter keep ye hyar?" he demanded. "I kin git out to-morrer ef I pays the fine. Hit's ten dollars." "An' ef ye don't pay the fine?" "Hit's a dollar a day."
Now and again came a rumor that Jesse Purvy was dying, but always hard on its heels came another to the effect that the obdurate fighter had rallied, though the doctors held out small encouragement of recovery. One day Lescott, whose bandaged arm gave him much pain, but who was able to get about, was strolling not far from the house with Samson.
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