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Updated: May 14, 2025
The girl did not know that a man could strike as quickly and with as terrific effect as the gray-eyed stranger struck then. There was one blow, and Quade went down limply. It was so sudden that he had her outside before she realized what had happened. "I chanced to see you go in," he explained, without a tremor in his voice. "I thought you were making a mistake. I heard you ask for shelter.
To fire from where he stood would draw a fusillade of bullets in their direction, and with another warning cry to Joanne, he sped twenty paces to one side so that they would not be within range. Not until then did the attacking party see him. At a hundred and fifty yards he had no time to pick out Quade or Mortimer FitzHugh.
Lowrie got sort of excited, lost his nerve, and when the hotel keeper come upstairs, Lowrie thought it was Sinclair, and he didn't wait. He shot himself." "You seem to know a pile," said Quade thoughtfully. "Well, you see, I'm Riley Sinclair." Still he smiled, but Quade was as one who had seen a ghost. "I had to make sure that you was alone. I had to make sure that you was guilty.
But before I do that I want your word that you will repeat nothing of what I say to another person even your wife." Blackton nodded. "Go on," he said. "I've suspected a thing or two, Aldous. I'll give you my word. Go on." As briefly as possible, and without going deeply into detail, Aldous told of Quade and his plot to secure possession of Joanne. "And this is his work," he finished.
The two men were facing each other, a yard apart. Mortimer FitzHugh's face was white, a deadly white, and he was smiling. His right hand rested carelessly in his hunting-coat pocket. There was a sneering challenge on his lips; in his eyes was a look that Aldous knew meant death if Quade moved. And Quade was like a great red beast ready to spring.
And on the terrible return trip he knew, with an abiding sense of guilt, that he alone could have checked the murderous and cowardly impulse of Quade. He alone could have overruled Quade and Lowrie; or, failing to overrule them he should at least have stayed with the cripple and helped him on, with the chance of death for them both. When he thought of that noble opportunity lost, he writhed.
If others should step in, if I should have more than Culver Rann on my hands why, then you may deal yourself a hand if you like, Donald. It may be a bigger game than One against One." "It will," rumbled MacDonald. "I learned other things early this afternoon, Johnny. Quade did not stay behind. He went with Rann. DeBar and the woman are with them, and two other men.
So he takes Quade unready and plugs him, while Quade ain't looking. Is that clear?" "It sure sounds straight to me," said Buck Mason. "All right! Stand up." Mason rose. "Take off your hat." The sombrero was withdrawn with a flourish. "God's up yonder higher'n that hawk, but seeing you clear, Buck. Tell us straight. Is Gaspar guilty or not?" "Guilty as hell, your honor!" A sigh from the prisoner.
"Two parties," explained MacDonald, puffing hard at his pipe. "If there's an outfit behind us they were hid in the timber on the other side of the snow-ridge, and they're pretty close this minute. Culver Rann or FitzHugh, as you call him is hustling straight on with DeBar. Mebby Quade is with him, an' mebby he ain't.
As long as he had a gun he could get meat, and as long as he could get meat, he cared little about other niceties of diet. On a long trip his "extras" were usually confined to a couple of bags of strength-giving grain for his horse. "Maybe you'd know the gent I'm down here looking for?" asked Riley. "Happen to know Ollie Quade Oliver Quade?" "Sort of know him, yep."
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