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Updated: May 14, 2025
If she had been that, he would soon have been in his little shack on the shore of the river, hard at work. He had planned work for himself that afternoon, and he was nettled to discover that his enthusiasm for the grand finale of a certain situation in his novel was gone. Yet for this he did not blame her. He was the fool. Quade and his friends would make him feel that sooner or later.
Had he sold himself to Culver Rann, and did Rann hold the key to the secret expedition they had planned into the North? He did not, at first, care to see Rann. He made up his mind that if he did meet him he would stop and chat casually with him, as though he had heard and seen nothing to rouse his suspicions. He particularly wanted to find DeBar; and, next to DeBar, Quade himself.
"Understand the sheriff is pretty strong for this Sinclair that murdered Quade," he said carelessly. "'Murder' is a tolerable strong word," came back the unfriendly answer. "Maybe it was a fair fight." Cartwright laughed. "Maybe it was," he said. Whitey interrupted himself in the act of shoving the pack across to be cut. He raised his pale eyes to the face of the rancher.
The next day added still more to Aldous' peace of mind regarding possible attack from Quade, and on the night of this day, their fourth in the mountains, he spoke his mind to MacDonald. For a few moments afterward the old hunter smoked quietly at his pipe. Then he said: "I don't know but you're right, Johnny. If they were behind us they'd most likely have tried something before this.
"Well, you hear about the killing of Quade, I reckon?" "Not a word." "You ain't? Where you been these days?" "Oh, yonder in the hills." "Chipping rocks, eh?
Joanne carried the pail. Her eyes were big and bright and searching in that thick-growing dusk of night. She walked very close to Aldous, and she said: "John, I know how careful you and Donald have been in this journey into the North. I know what you have feared. Culver Rann and Quade are after the gold, and they are near.
For a moment they were alone, and now her eyes were wide and filled with fear as he clasped her hands closely in his own. "I saw him," she whispered, her fingers tightening convulsively. "I saw that man Quade at the station. He followed us up the street. Twice I looked behind and saw him. I am afraid afraid to let you go back there. I believe he is somewhere out there now waiting for you!"
Besides, he's a killer. That's his job. So is Sinclair a killer. Maybe he did fight Quade square, but Quade ain't the only one. Why, boys, this Sinclair has got a record as long as my arm." In silence they sat around the table, each man thinking hard. The professional gunman gets scant sympathy from ordinary cowpunchers.
But Arizona made no effort to read her riddle. She went on: "Now that he has been taken, I know what has happened. To keep me out of danger he told " "That you're a woman?" "No, he wouldn't do that, because he knows that is the last thing in the world that I want revealed. But he's told them that he killed Quade, and now he's in danger of his life." "Let's ride on," said Arizona.
It seemed to have grown larger, with a horrible significance. And each instinctively put a man's skull beside it, bleached and white, with shadow eyes. Quade did the actual bandaging of Sinclair's foot, drawing tight above the ankle, so that some of the circulation was shut off; but it eased the pain, and now Sinclair sat up. "I'm sorry," he said, "mighty sorry, boys!" There was no answer.
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