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Updated: May 20, 2025
Prescott smiled. He had read a good deal about England, and he could imagine Jernyngham's firm control of his property. His rule would, no doubt, be just, but it would be enforced on autocratic and highly conventional lines. His daughter, the rancher thought, resembled him in some respects.
The rancher apologized for the key. "We've had to lock the cellar lately since so many movers have been going through on this road. Eh bien! Our hams they took wings and flew." Polly rattled the milk pans for a moment or two and then listened. From above there came to her the sound of three faint raps on the woodwork of the bed. She crept up the stairs that led from the cellar into the house.
Colonel Webb told, among other things, that he had come out to the Big Bend to look over the affairs of a deceased brother who had been a rancher and a sheriff of one of the towns, Fairdale by name. "Found no affairs, no ranch, not even his grave," said Colonel Webb. "And I tell you, sir, if hell's any tougher than this Fairdale I don't want to expiate my sins there."
He is the cattle rancher whom Luke insisted was such a friend of his. I took a long chance and had the sheriff arrest him to-day. He is being held until you take a look to see if you can identify him. I hope you will be able to." "Where is he?" asked the lad. "Tied up in the chuck wagon. I'll have him brought over."
The less cultured folk, who, perhaps, had more humor than respect for the Irishman, found his brand tripped much more easily off the tongue by replacing the Z with an S, and invariably using the plural. "Say, Jim," the rancher went on, buoyed with his own enthusiasm, "it's been a great round-up. Seventy-five per cent. Bully! I'll open out my scheme. Listen. Ther's Donagh's land buttin' on us.
After being forced to a canter the horses would drop of their own accord to a walk, and soon they were left to continue at their own gait. "How far, Molly, do you think we have come?" asked the rancher. "It must be fifteen miles, and possibly more; if it were in a direct line, adding what we made before crossing the last stream, it would be safe to wait until morning."
Frisingham, who had rather more than a suspicion that Stirling already had in his mind somebody who had not been bred in the city. An unknown man who built new railroad bridges in the wilderness, or a bush rancher, it seemed most probable.
"Well," he said, "Cyril had got hurt in a row at the settlement a few hours before Mr. Colston's arrival. His head was badly cut; he thought it might make a bad impression." "That doesn't sound very convincing. Had he no better reason?" The rancher paused to think.
"Women are subject to such fancies, and Hettie had another once," he said. "In fact, I think she was quite sorry when it apparently came to nothing." Alton laughed mirthlessly. "Wasn't it a trifle foolish of Mrs. Forel? Miss Deringham is a lady of position in the old country, and I a bush rancher, standing on the brink of ruin, and a cripple." "Of course," said Forel, "you know best.
Transley and Y.D. rode about, carefully scrutinizing the short grass for iron stakes, and keeping a general eye on operations. Suddenly Transley sat bolt-still on his horse. Then, in a low voice, "Y.D!" he said. The rancher turned and followed the line of Transley's vision. The nearest of Landson's stacks was ablaze, and a great pillar of smoke was rolling skyward.
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